


The Devil's Highway

by lonesomehunter (decimare0), simplygrimly



Series: The Devil's Highway [1]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Begging, Blood, Blood and Gore, Broken Bones, Buried Alive, Burns, Captivity, Character Death, Creepy Whumper, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Death, Dehumanization, Electrocution, Food, Forced Nudity, Gen, Humiliation, Hunting Humans, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Intimate Whumper, Knives, Mentions of Murder, Minor Character Death, Mouth trauma, Multi, Non-Consensual Touching, Panic Attacks, Physical Abuse, Psychological Torture, Rape/Non-con Elements, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Restraints, Sleep Deprivation, Thoughts of death, Threats of Violence, Water Torture, Whipping, Whump, hand trauma, sadistic whumper, suffocation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-17
Updated: 2020-12-16
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:41:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 21
Words: 28,368
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23187187
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/decimare0/pseuds/lonesomehunter, https://archiveofourown.org/users/simplygrimly/pseuds/simplygrimly
Summary: Josiah picks up a victim for his resemblance to a childhood hero and gives him a bloody welcome.
Series: The Devil's Highway [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2053944
Comments: 7
Kudos: 11





	1. Rawhide

Ezra looked like a young Clint Eastwood from his Rawhide days. Eastwood’s big break was on that show. That was one of Josiah's favorite black and white TV westerns from the 50’s. Mama always had them on the 10 incher in the kitchen while she snapped beans.

That’s why he was chosen. Josiah was just passing through his town, stopping for gas and smokes at the Gas Mart. Ezra was just making his usual stop there for Jenny’s famous boiled peanuts before heading home after a long work day. Never seeing the Trans Am trailing behind his pickup on that dark, dirt road to his trailer on the outskirts of town. Pulled from his bed in the dead of night, drugged and violated. Waking up to a devil in the flesh.

Mama would have liked this one.

His blue eyes glassy, spotted with broken blood vessels and struggling to focus. Every blow was white blinding pain. 

“I stole these from Mama’s boyfriend Bobby. Right out of his back pocket.” 

He circled Ezra, taking in the sight of the man decorated in his own blood tied to the chair. He’d have to get some photos of this one. This was very good. The brass knuckles were shiny silver and slick with blood. Ezra must have rejoined the room because the sight of them made him whimper. “Yeah these are quite something huh.” Josiah knelt down to give him a better look, leaning in close.

“Bobby got to feel the other end of these after he took a belt to Mama. Beat her black and blue.”  
All he got in response was muffled groans. A cloth gag was tied tightly around his head, soaked with sweat and quickly stained pink. There was blood cascading from his nose in a gruesome waterfall.

“I dropped him off the train bridge by the lake. Thank goodness for gators and razor wire. Good for making sure there’s nothing left.” Josiah heard the man frantically trying to pull air into his nose, blood and mucus making it harder and harder. Not wanting their time to end so early, Josiah pulled the gag down from Ezra’s mouth, frantic breaths and gasps the only sounds in the room. Gently he brushed away the hair stuck to his forehead, meeting his eyes glistening with tears. 

"That's it. Take it easy, baby. It’s gonna be a long night.’


	2. Cold, Cold, Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> content warnings: knives, food mention, vomit, whipping, blood, forced nudity, mentions of torture, mentions of mouth trauma, threats of violence

It’s far too bright. Ezra peels his eyes apart and winces, shutting them again quickly. Too much sunlight is spilling into the open windows. Everything hurts. Forcing his eyes to adjust, he tries to move but can’t. Bound to the kitchen chair, duct tape has been wrapped around his chest, his wrists taped together in front of him. Immobilized again. 

Wood cabinets painted green, a yellow formica countertop with a small TV next to the bowl of overripe bananas, random ceramic roosters smattered about adding to the southern decor. The place looked almost untouched by any 21st century influence. Somebody’s grandma used to live here. 

“Mornin’.” Too groggy to respond. The man seemed more interested in his TV show to notice.

His left eye is nearly swollen shut but he’s still able to steal a glance outside. Nothing but dense trees at the edge of the property. A line of tall bird feeders stand along the white wood fence. A cardinal sits on the branch of a red oak tree filling the morning air with it’s song. It’s breathy whistles visible in the brisk morning air.

The songbird’s music is too shrill for the man with the thrumming ache in his skull, face, ribs, just his whole body. He ached all over. His face feels still coated in dried blood from last night’s brutality. Beside him sits the tall, ginger man with his hair slicked back like a greaser, casually eating eggs and grits with black coffee. A pile of bacon sits in the middle of the table and the smell makes his stomach churn.

“You hungry?” Ginger Elvis doesn’t take his eyes off the black and white cowboys on the small television on the dingy kitchen counter. There’s a pack of Reds tucked into the sleeve of his grey and black ringer t-shirt. He stabs two slabs of bacon with his fork and places them on the plate in front of the battered man. 

“M’thirsty.” His throat felt like gravel and uncomfortably dry. Josiah tipped the mason jar up to Ezra’s dry lips, gently holding his jaw so the weak man didn’t spill cause he couldn’t lift his own head up. 

Josiah’s attention suddenly goes to the screen, “This is one of my favorite parts.” A very young Clint Eastwood was on the screen talking to a fellow cowboy about bandits robbing a wagon. “You look so much like him you know. It’s one of the reasons I needed you. Need to see what you’re made of.”

Ezra feels panic bubbling inside. He couldn’t stop himself from begging. The words are shaky and hurried.

“Listen, I-I have gold coins and cash in a lock box in my trailer. There’s thousands there. Whatever you want, just take it.” The effort to hold his head up was overwhelming, it dropped to his chest. “Please..”

Josiah ignored the plea, getting some eggs and grits on a fork and heading for Ezra’s unwilling mouth. He was going to feed the man like a toddler in a high chair right here in this frightening Appalachian time capsule of a house.

“Open.” First attempt a failure, Ezra turned his head away fighting back the bile rising up his throat.

“I can’t..I feel sick.” The room hadn’t yet settled and stopped spinning since the initial dreadful experience of waking. He just wanted to be in his own bed, to rest his heavy head on his soft pillow, be under his own blanket waking up from this just having been a terrible nightmare. 

“When I was a boy my mama always hated wasting food. She grew up in the Gum Holler project houses so she knew what hunger felt like.” He ate the unwanted bite himself and went back to his own plate, piling on more bacon. The smell wafting Ezra’s way, making his stomach roll again.

“One morning I threw my plate of biscuits and gravy across the table. It splattered all over mama’s new church dress. It was sky blue with little pink flowers. She saved up for that dress for months. Mama didn’t say a word until after she cleaned herself up. ‘Get me a switch’.” 

The television now static, Josiah switches it off. The cardinal’s insistent song the only sounds besides Ezra’s slight wheeze when he takes a breath. “I went out and found the most pathetic looking twig I could find. Whatn’t gonna do no damage. Waited a while before going back in. As soon as she saw it, Mama grabbed me by the neck and marched me over to the dead tree next to the well. Made me find the meanest looking branch, thorny and real sharp edges. Whooped me so bad I missed two weeks of school." 

The man who’s now moved in much too close to him looks almost wistful when he speaks about it.

“Take a few bites and then I’ll fix you up nice.” A rough hand grips his face, holding it steady while he forces the food into Ezra’s mouth. He’s thankful when it stays down..for a few brief moments until he retches all over the mid century table and it’s rooster themed plateware. 

"Sorry…I’m sorry. Please I don’t feel well.” The mistake had been made but he knew his pleas for mercy were going unheard.

“Move one muscle that I didn’t tell you to move and I’ll cut your ankles up.”

Josiah pulls a folding hunting knife from his boot and cuts the duct tape from the chair while maintaining a firm hand on Ezra so he doesn’t faceplant on the table. 

“Come on. We’re going on a little walk.”

Josiah lifts him onto his hip with ease, Ezra really seeing the imposing size of the man who’s gripping him tightly. Practically a poster boy for Big & Tall.

The sudden movement makes the pain front and center again, he swallows the subsequent vomit down. Not wanting to make his situation worse.

They head out the back porch, screen door slamming behind them. 

They walk through a gate in the wooden fence, into the woods. There’s no noise. No cars. No people. Only the sounds of the animals and their morning routine. 

“Just a bit further.” Every movement sends pain shooting through his nerves. His feet dragging along the cold earth, he’s not even trying to support his own weight anymore.

Finally they reach it. Towering above them was white oak tree. It’s long and ragged looking branches hung down. Still bare from the winter. Josiah drops him in front of it. He slumps to his knees. Panicked breaths visible in the cold.

“I don’t think I need to say it.” The sound of the knife opening makes him flinch.

He tries to get to his feet but crumbles halfway landing on his elbows. 

Josiah moves to his feet and rests the knife against his tendon.

“Wait! Wait!” He drags himself on his elbows forward, across the cold ground, every motion agony before collapsing in front of the tree to dry heave. He is hauled to his feet, hands wrapped around his chest.

“Pick a switch. Get it wrong and you’re not gonna like the one I pick.” The threat was breathed into his ear.

Fingers traveled from branch to branch settling on one he knew wasn’t going to be too small. It was about as thick as a broom handle, and the ends were jagged enough that the monster engulfing his body should be satisfied.

He tested the durability with a few air swats. 

“Ah, this’ll do. Good job, boy.”

Ezra felt the cold dread deep inside his belly return, the same cold he felt when Josiah silently crept out of the shadows in his trailer and pressed a knife to his throat. Catching him off guard, black leather gloves preventing his screams while the psycho took him by force on the floor of his trailer. 

There wasn’t any stopping this. This man was going to hurt him again. 

“Palms against the tree and don’t move.” No choice but to comply when the arms holding him upright are suddenly gone. His legs wobble beneath him but he’s determined to stay on his feet. He hears the knife flick back open behind him then the slicing of fabric up his back, his white t-shirt tossed aside in tatters. He doesn’t stop until every scrap of clothing is gone, leaving a bloodstained heap on the ground beside him.

“Please don’t do this.” Barely a whisper. 

“Hush now. It’ll be over soon." 

The last of his ruined clothes, a bloodstained heap on the ground.

Ezra felt eyes upon him, taking in his uneven tan from working outside, the marks and new bruising from the night before. His body was no longer his. Fighting to hold the panic in he focuses on the red cardinal, oblivious to the horror taking place two trees over chirping away.

"Whenever I got a whooping Mama would always make me sing her favorite church hymn. I’m not sure why. Maybe she thought it would help beat the devil out of me. I don’t expect you to know it so I’ll sing it for you.”

“Satan, your kingdom must come down

Satan, your kingdom must come down”

The first blow startles him sending him lurching forward. 

“I heard the voice of Jesus say

Satan, your kingdom must come down”

The second hits his tender ribs. He cries out. It sounds strained and hoarse.

“I’m gonna pray until they tear your kingdom down

Pray until they tear your kingdom down”

Dozens of strikes later; his back, bottom and thighs are bleeding, dirty and raw. Blood dripped down his legs, being absorbed by the dirt at his feet. Ezra finally crumbles, and the darkness closes in on him mercifully. 

The reprieve is cut woefully short, the impact of cold water shocks him back. He tries to shield himself but he’s backed up against the fence on the back porch. Josiah casually lights up a cigarette as he rinses the grime and bodily fluids away. Taking his time to get him nice and clean. 

For Ezra it felt like ages, he had to clench his jaw to keep from chattering. Only then did he become aware of the broken and cracked back molars. But he couldn’t scream, the cold felt like a crushing weight. Taking away the short breaths his broken body would allow. 

He hears the squeak of the water spout being closed. The hose finally turned off, Josiah finishes his cigarette. Heaved over the larger man’s shoulder, he was thankful for the heat radiating off his body.

Warmth sweet warmth as they entered the split level mountain home. Down the pink carpeted stairs to the basement with a stone fireplace not yet lit. Cherokee statues sit atop the mantle and Native American artwork covers the dark wood paneling. Ezra is laid down by the large space heater in the corner. The coils roared to life ever so often. Josiah puts a patchwork crochet quilt over the battered, shivering man then puts a vinyl on the old record player. Adjusting it to a lower volume. The fireplace lit and a beer in his hand, Josiah settles into the recliner beside the prone man trying to get the chill out of his bones. Heavy lidded, he curls into himself. Hank Williams sings him to sleep.

In anger, unkind words are said

That make the teardrops start

Why can’t I free your doubtful mind

And melt your cold, cold heart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cold, Cold Heart was written by Hank Williams and I do not claim ownership.


	3. We've Only Just Begun

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> cw: thoughts of death, drug use, captivity, mentions of murder, mentions of noncon, mentions of past torture

Bang. 

Bang. 

Bang. 

Bang.

The endless hammering and sporadic whirring of electric saws had been going on for hours. Hands against his ears, Ezra prayed the man would forget about him today. Let his body rest. Somewhere out there beyond the dark void of the closet prison, his captor was hard at work building something. Lord knows what.

Almost thankful for the current darkness of the space, thankful for some relief from the pounding headache made worse by the ruckus out there. Chained to the floor by his wrists, he was unable to shift from the uncomfortable position on his side, the metal pulling taut when he tried. Sturdy bolts secured the steel loop to the concrete, no chance of getting them loose without a tool.

How many people had been chained up in this place like an animal? Stripped, tortured and then dumped in a ditch like trash or left out in the remote woods to be picked apart by wildlife. Bones scattered with time. There’s no way he was the first. Ezra forces the thought back down. Swallowed the lump in his throat. 

_No. Stay focused. Try to stay calm._

Had anyone even noticed he was gone? Had his younger sister Joe Lee taken a break from her meth clouded haze to contact him? Of course she hadn’t. Often she would disappear for weeks, sometimes months. Not a second before her cash dried up he would see her, usually rifling through his trailer for the countless time, taking anything of his she can pawn. Like his beloved vintage Gibson he took years to restore with love and care. At Randy’s Pawn it got her $200. Ezra loved his baby sister but didn’t know how to help her. All his attempts to get her to rehab failed, Joe Lee wasn’t conscious of the world beyond her addiction. It would be months before she would even realize she hadn’t heard from her big brother. 

Mom and dad were dead, a bad car wreck when Ezra was 17. Leaving him behind to raise Joe Lee to keep them out of the system. None of their extended family ever offered them help and he would only see them at the reunion in Austin held once a decade. Ezra would attend as the sole representative. Barely knew their names and could barely tell them apart, nearly strangers to them.

The banging ceased suddenly, making Ezra tense up. His heart raced in his chest almost too loudly. Too scared to even make a sound, too scared to breathe. Eventually he would be yanked out of this dark box. Punished for being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Taken over and over until he couldn’t scream anymore. 

_Maybe this would be the last time._

Footsteps descending the stairs made them squeak slightly, muffled by the hideous baby pink carpet. Gentle piano pours from the large basement stereo speakers. Karen Carpenter’s soft voice fills the air with an eerie lightness. He put on the goddamn Carpenters. 

We’ve only just begun to live

White lace and promises

A kiss for luck and we’re on our way

(We’ve only begun)

The air in the closet felt heavy as he waited for the next round to start. Steeling himself for the next assault. Whatever form that would take. Fists or kisses. 

Only when the footsteps ascended the stairs did he exhale the breath he was holding. The Carpenters were still crooning away in the main room of the basement. 

And when the evening comes, we smile

So much of life ahead

We’ll find a place where there’s room to grow

And yes, we’ve just begun

The banging resumed.

Ezra allowed himself to relax. Folding into himself so he could rest his head on his arms without pulling his chained too taut. He’s supposed to be reporting to work at the construction site right now. 

Foreman Bill probably didn’t even realize he wasn’t there. His head was too far up his own ass to notice Ezra was even his employee. Hardly a blip on the radar. Maybe he should have tried harder to talk to the guys on the site. A few of them would go out for tacos after work on Tuesdays. Too shy to invite himself, he always hoped they would ask him but that invite never came. Ezra always felt like he was outside looking in. 

_You get used to being alone. After a while._

Maybe Anita would realize her alimony check was late. If it was so much as a minute late she’d be blasting him over the phone for being a loser like clockwork. Surely she would notice that her main source of income had vanished. Even though he caught her in bed with their neighbor Jody, Ezra got the bad deal in the divorce. She got the house and the SUV. He got enough cash to buy his trailer and a dented pick up truck. She could take it all. It was tainted by her. 

His beautiful plants were going to die. The numerous clay pots of varying sizes filled with succulents and low light plants will wither along with him. He was going to die here.

_There’s no one coming for me._

In a fog of dread he doesn’t hear the keys jingling in the door of the bedroom. Lost in his despair. Light peeked in from the main room through the slats of the closet door. Eye level with the black leather combat boots worn by the looming shadow of the devil himself. Silently he prays to the universe or whatever higher power might be listening. 

_Someone. Anyone. Please help me._

The light switch flipped and red lit up in his vision. From ceiling to floor blood spattered his closet prison. Nail marks, frantic and deep are scattered all over. Many souls have suffered in this room. Another jingle of keys to the padlock on the sliding closet door and it was time.

“No. No Please.” Ezra tried to scramble as far back as his restraints would allow. “What are you going to do to me?”

Josiah crouched down, gripping his hammer tightly in one hand. The other hand tugged at Ezra’s chains pulling him closer and closer until they were face to face. Tears stung at his eyes, his sob caught in his throat not allowing Josiah the pleasure of the sound.

“I thought maybe it’s time we have a little talk.“

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We've Only Just Begun belongs to The Carpenters and I claim no ownership.


	4. Fire and Brimstone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> content warning: threats of death, talks of being buried alive, emotional whump, murder, captivity, general creepiness, restraints

“I built this just for you, darlin’. It was quite the undertaking.” Josiah smiles at his own joke lost on his current company who was blindfolded for the surprise. 

“I hope you like it.” The blindfold is taken away and Ezra sees what he’s been restrained in all this time. Josiah built a goddamn coffin. Rich, dark stained wood with a deep blue velvet lining.

“This is where your body will rest when you go on to the sweet hereafter." 

Ezra was paralyzed by the utterly soulless eyes peering deep into his. The strawberry blond demon tilted his head curiously at his prey, searching for something, eventually finding it. He softly brushes away tears with his thumb from the cheek of the man trying so hard to stop crying. 

“Got the crushed blue velvet liner special ordered. Pulled mama’s old sewing machine out of the attic. Still runs like a dream.” Nails jingling in one hand, he picks up the hammer with the other. Stopping to pull down the gag with his pinky.

“Do you want your last rites now? Or we can wait until I lower you into the ground. When I cover you with dirt.”

“No. Nonono. Ple-.” The cold steel clinks against his teeth, lips parted by the rusty head of the hammer, cutting his pleas short.

“They all say the same thing. It didn’t save them, baby. Why should it save you?” The question hung in the air while Josiah slid the lid into place, leaving Ezra to panic in the sudden darkness. Desperate for a deep breath.

Bang. The first nail in.

"I’ve built quite a few of these over the years. The dearly beloved never get to see their own casket. Never had a live burial before." 

"How many people?” Ezra’s voice was tight with panic, it takes an effort to force the words out.

Bang. The second nail in place. The condemned man wails.

Tap. Tap. Bang. Tap. Tap. Bang. Third and fourth.

A brief pause, curiosity at a time like this has thrown off his balance. “Would that make dyin’ easier? Knowing how many souls I sent to the Lord?”

“Tell me.” Nearly a whisper. As if he’d already begun to run out of oxygen.

Tap. Tap. Bang. The velvety tomb feels like it’s getting smaller and smaller. The void closing in on him threatening to engulf him inside and out.

“If I were to bury you tonight that would make you my lucky number 13.” Excitedly he taps the lid twice, congratulating himself like he’s almost reached a personal goal.

“Why are you doing this?” Ezra twists, trying to find a weak spot in the tight ropes cutting into his wrists. Crushed blue velvet darkened with blood beneath him. 

“They never want to stay with me. None of ‘em. I tried to love on ‘em but they always cried to go home. So I send’em home." 

Whistling to himself he continues to nail down the lid.

“I’m not ready to die. Please. Please…” He trails off, still mouthing the word repeatedly to himself in a silent prayer.

The whistling stopped.

“Please-please don’t kill me.” Desperate now he sobs, head swimming from only managing shallow breaths. 

“How badly do you wanna stay alive, baby?” Josiah lowers himself down, pressing his ear to the stained wood. He hears faint whimpering below him as he smiles to himself, tracing his fingers along the grooves in the lumber. “What are you gonna do for me?”

“I’ll stay! I’ll stay with you! I’ll do whatever you want–please.”

“Forever?”

“Forever.”

_No I won’t. I’ll find a way out._

White halogen porch light spills in slowly as the lid is pried open carefully, reflecting off Ezra’s tear stained cheeks. Still struggling to catch his breath. “It’s okay, baby, breathe.” Josiah knelt down beside him, black bandana in hand, softly catching his tears. A palm resting against his chest. “Breathe.”

The comforting gesture amongst the raw terror gripping him makes him fall apart. He sobs even harder, unable to stop.


	5. Big Boy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Content warnings: Rape/Noncon, forced to watch torture, captivity, intimate whumper, mouth trauma, suffocation, whipping, humiliation, dehumanization, snuff films, forced nudity, restraints, blood

“Usually I just turn on the radio while I work in here but I’m in the mood for something different tonight,” Josiah declared while sliding a wooden crate, filled to the brim with countless VHS tapes, out from it’s spot under the workbench. It’s existence was a horrible treat his tormentor was more than happy to spring on him for the first time tonight. Hurriedly he rifled through the contents of the box, stopping occasionally to read some of the labels aloud. There was a nostalgic longing in his voice. “Honey Bee. Texas Red. Turtledove.” Stacking those aside while he searched for a particular favorite. A tape labeled BIG BOY 6 was wedged at the bottom underneath one titled SUNSHINE. “Ah. Here it is.”

PLAY flashes as the blue screen turns to black before the video starts. A snuff film. The black combination TV/VCR sat atop a shelf, papers were stacked on top of it arbitrarily. A brawny naked man who looked like he should have been an American Gladiator named Rhino stood alone in the frame. Broad shouldered and hairy, his sweaty dark hair hung down past the nape of his neck. Thick scars zigzag across his back, layered over each other. He’s slightly hunched over, clutching his right hand to his side. His head turned to the side, unfocused eyes pointed at the floor. Big Boy is the only name Josiah calls him in the homemade video tape. The date MAY.17.19. etched into the bottom right corner.

Ezra sat bare assed on the frigid garage concrete. The promise of clothing has clearly been forgotten. Wrists zip tied in front of him, he pulls his knees to his chest in a futile attempt to warm himself. Josiah seemed unfazed by the briskness of the garage in his thick black denim jeans and red flannel, sleeves rolled up to the elbows, squatting in front of his workbench. Momentarily distracted from the task in front of him, he watches the screen. Ever so often stealing a glance at his prisoner shift uncomfortably next to him, anguish painted on his face.

On the screen Big Boy drops to his hands and knees without being instructed to when Josiah enters the frame. Sitting in the brown leather captain’s chair, he props one boot up on his mangled back. The other rests next to Big Boy’s face, now flush to the ground. His tongue worked quickly to clean the boot until the leather was pristine. Doing the same for the other while Josiah sat back teasing his hole open with his fingers. “That’s my good boy. Just like new.” Josiah cooed as he pulled him up to sit back on his knees, turning his head so he’s forced to look into the camera. There was no light inside. His eyes were dull and bloodshot. A man who had been thoroughly broken.

The sudden clattering of chains startled Ezra out of his daze. He had nearly forgotten why they were in the garage in the first place. Josiah pulls a long strand of heavy duty chain from a large spool of it, using bolt cutters once he is satisfied with its length. Squatting back down, he lowers a section of it into the center of a medium sized styrofoam cooler full of cement that had just barely begun to set.

The burly captive on the screen gave no resistance given when he was grabbed and bent over the coffee table. Face pressed against the wood, the man was taken violently. Those fucking leather driving gloves gripped his hips, leaving shadows of repeat bruising where fingertips dug in mercilessly. The same ones Josiah forced into his mouth, making him gag, while he raped him that night in the trailer. The night his life turned into this horror show. The horrendous scene playing out seemed to go on forever. A hard thrust makes him cry out in agony, making Ezra cringe. It echoed through the garage, making it feel like Big Boy was right next to him. Ezra felt the tears beginning to pool, it was all too much. Looking away, he tries to focus on the ghost of a once functional jukebox in the corner.

“Nobody said you could stop watching.” He quickly complies, eyes forced to return to the brutal assault. Josiah’s glare visible in his peripheral vision was all it took. Best to not rile up the devil if he can help it.

“Big Boy was with me for a while. The longest actually. Took him some time to get properly adjusted but he came around.“ 

“How long is a while?” Upset at himself for even asking but he had to know what his chances were of getting through this. 

“About 5 years give or take,” Josiah said as he lifted the cooler and tapped the air bubbles out of the hardening cement. 

Five years. No wonder he looked like a beaten animal. Years of this hell had taken its toll. Whoever he was before he was kidnapped was gone. Replaced by a compliant husk of a person. 

Without a word he pushes eject and inserts BIG BOY 2. Ezra instantly became queasy. “No. Not another one." 

"I thought we could have a little midnight movie marathon. Maybe I’ll pop some popcorn. We have until the cement dries.”

The worst and final years of this man’s life were documented over hours and hours of footage. And there was nothing he could do but shiver and sit quietly while the next video started. 

Big Boy is hogtied painfully tight on the pink basement carpet, his limbs nearly a shade of purple. Groans of discomfort are muffled by the black medical tape wrapped around the lower half of his face, discolored with bruises. His hair had been tied back in a messy ponytail. Josiah has the record player going in this one. Ezra couldn’t place the song but it sounded like it was recorded in a garage. Big Boy sees something out of the frame and frantically shakes his head, a pathetic whine escapes him. The plastic bag is pulled over his head and secured with duct tape. Josiah lays down on his stomach to watch the man panic, his body desperately trying to pull in air. His body goes lax when Josiah eventually pulls a hole in the plastic. Ezra thought for sure he was dead until he heard harsh breathing through nostrils. The date on the bottom right corner of the screen tape says SEPT.14.15

Eight tapes in the Big Boy series, they watched seven out of order. Josiah moved to sit behind him on the floor halfway through the snuff film fest, whispering chilling commentary into his ear. Like a serial killer bonus feature. “He was a tough sumbitch. Beatin ‘em like a junkyard dog is how they learn." 

BIG BOY 4 shows him tethered to a tree by a neck chain, cowering on his knees in blood spattered snow. A bullwhip strikes his exposed back, a mess of blood. Josiah circles the tree with a bullwhip in one hand and a cigarette in the other. “Do we need to start over? Or do we need to be out here all day? Maybe I should just leave you out here to freeze and be done with you.” The whip cracks four more times, new wounds bead with blood. Big Boy says something but it’s too weak to make out. His head is yanked up while Josiah cruelly raked his fingers along the man’s ruined back. The blood is smeared all over his face. The date in the bottom right hand corner reads JAN.27.17.

There’s a final tape in the BIG BOY pile that Josiah glances at briefly making a peculiar face but ultimately he ignores it, turning his attention back to his project. Who knows what could be on it? Ezra hoped he would never find out.

4 feet of chain is what he was given. Just barely able to lift the 25 pound block to his waist, the chain wrapped around his bare ankle and padlocked. Josiah put the key on a thin silver necklace and tucked it into his flannel for safe keeping. Ezra puts the block down, his shoulders and arms already strained.

“Don’t worry, baby. This is just gonna be until you get settled in.” His drawl smoky, he presses a tender kiss on Ezra’s lips who doesn’t dare pull away. Lesson learned the hard way the last time when he was struck so hard across the face he spit out a molar. 

“And when will that be?” 

“When you’re as good a dog as my Big Boy was.” Josiah turned to the rusty green painted metal cabinet wedged next to the defunct jukebox. Returning with a brand new VHS still in the shrink wrap and a black sharpie.

“Not this. You can’t.” It felt pointless to beg, knowing it was what he wanted. The red haired devil wanted to see him tremble in fear. 

“Baby, I can do whatever I want to you.”

BABY is scrawled across the white VHS label.


	6. Baby, Let's Play House

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> content warnings: implied noncon, explicit threats of noncon, forced nudity, noncon touching, electrocution, burns, torture, humiliation, intimate/creepy whumper

PLAY blinks on the electric blue screen. The video starts. The garage is lit by the strange glow of a dying fluorescent light overhead. Baby is standing in the foreground, Josiah’s black and gold Pontiac Trans Am is parked behind him. Shadows are cast on his face. He stares at the floor, trembling. Covering his private area with his hands, he grimaces when he’s abruptly illuminated by one of Josiah’s work lights. 

He turns his head in an effort to hide his crying from the intrusive lens capturing this exposed moment. Josiah enters and bats Baby’s hands away that are shielding his groin. He moves in close, wrapping an arm around the muscular man’s shoulder. Josiah grabs his chin and guides it forward, holding it there. 

“See that?” He points directly to the camera, speaking in the man’s ear. “You better keep those peepers looking right in there or I’m gonna breed you so raw after this they’re gonna hear you screaming in deep space.”

Without warning he grabs Baby’s groin and squeezes tight. The naked man lurches his head back and grips the red flannel of the man who is grinning wickedly.

“You lose, Baby. What a letdown performance. Hell. I had high hopes for you. Good news for me however.” He nibbles at the terror-stricken man’s throat. “No! Please! I will try harder!”

“What was that? Sorry Baby I got a little mild tinnitus in this ear. All I heard was ‘harder.’” He grasps the man’s cock tighter and slightly twists. His chest is soaked now, the tears are still falling freely. 

“I pride myself on good sportsmanship. You weren’t given a fair go. How do two more chances sound?” Baby nods frantically. The hold is released and the tall man walks back out of frame. Baby is breathing hard through his nose, his jaw is clenched tight. 

Metal is clattering on metal while he searches for something out of the camera’s view. He returns to the frame and holds a long silver baton with two prongs on the tip. 

“You can get damn near anything at a swap meet.” A cattle prod. It’s held in front of Baby’s face and switched on. Crackles of electricity spark, startling Baby and almost making him break eye contact with the viewer beyond the lens.

“Nononono….“ A sheen of sweat is starting to form on his forehead.

He points to the cement block chained to Baby’s ankle. The skin around it looks raw and irritated. "Pick that up, boy. I don’t want to see any slack in that chain.” The prod crackles again in warning. Quickly he obeys and lifts until the chain is taut. 

Baby holds steady for a solid ten minutes until his arms begin to shake. Josiah moves about him. Watching him carefully for any slip up. Only managing a few shocks when Josiah successfully distracts him with pinches and punches. Welts are already beginning to form.

Fifteen minutes in his arms are shaking violently. His sandy blonde hair is darkened with sweat. “Please let me stop. I can’t hold this much longer.” His voice was a desperate wail.

Josiah moves off screen. Ignoring the plea for mercy. The sound of his Zippo opening and closing then he returns to frame, cigarette in one hand and the prod swinging in the other. He moves in close to the man who tenses as he closes in. Josiah takes a long drag. The smoke billows around them. Teasing the hot ember just above the skin of his collarbone. He puts the cigarette out deep into the valley there.

Baby screams a hellish scream.

He fumbles with his block and drops it. Narrowly missing his unprotected feet. He is shocked again in the back. He struggles to pick up the cement but eventually rights himself. 

“Uh oh.“ The big ginger is circling the man who’s just realized his mistake. Turmoil written on his face. 

"Fuck.” A shock. The blazing work light reflects off the tortured man’s eyes. Their bright blue hue is amplified by his tears. 

“One more chance, Baby.” A hard slap on the ass. “Or I’m gonna use you until the sun comes up.”

His knees buckle. Another shock. “I can’t-I can’t-please just let me stop!” 

“Come on, use those muscles, boy. I know you got ‘em.” Josiah taunts him when he fails. Another shock. Baby holds steady, his lips are pressed together in a pained line. 

“Straighten up.” Another. Baby is sobbing now.

“Oh bless your heart.” He runs his fingers through Ezra’s hair. “You just want a break don’t you?”

“Yes. Please sir.” Josiah looks surprised and pauses for a moment then smiles. “Please.” Baby whispers.

A shock to his thigh. "Maybe in ten minutes I’ll think about it.”

“Oh god!” Face red with exertion and pain. Josiah back hands him hard and his head jerks harshly. “Don’t blaspheme again.” A loud thunk and the cement block drops. 

“That’s three.” Baby’s eyes get wide when he realizes his mistake. He’s shocked again. The man sobs uncontrollably. “Pick it up! We ain’t finished.”

Overwhelmed with exhaustion, he can no longer stand upright at all. Baby is prodded until he collapses. 

The camera is zoomed. Baby is on his side on the concrete facing away from the camera. Mumbling something that sounds like a prayer. His breathing is erratic. Baby’s sobbing form fills the frame for the final ten minutes of the film. The date on the bottom right corner of the video is MAR.08.20.

STOP.

REWIND.

The electric blue radiance of the television screen brightens the bedroom. Josiah could hardly keep his eyes open, too worn out from the night’s entertainment that lasted well into the dim light of morning. The sun had begun to spill through the chips and crack of the windows blacked out with paint. 

“Sometimes I need the TV on to fall asleep. Is that going to bother you, Baby?” His voice a sleepy low grumble, his fingertips tracing over the burns on Ezra’s back. The man in his arms tenses up but says nothing. Josiah points the bulky remote at the VCR.

PLAY.

Ezra stares into his own eyes once more. Still feeling the sensation of the prod on his skin he’s too nervous to look away, frozen in place against his torturer’s chest. He’s so sore inside and out.

The embrace of the devil tightens around him. Body aching for rest, he relaxed into the touch.

Ezra drifts off to the sounds of his own screams.


	7. Turtledove

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> content warnings: drowning, female whumpee, murder, thoughts of dying, forced to watch, aftermath of whipping, past child abuse, blood, religion mention

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is set in the general time period of the last chapter.

He was given precious little moments. Here and there. Right now he’s being allowed to take a bath. Alone. No hands on his body. No being scrubbed bloody with the horse brush. 

‘Need to cleanse the sin.’ Josiah would say. Probably something his mother did to him. He was learning bits and pieces about his captor. His face would light up as he would talk about different punishments he was given. Beaten with an extension cord, forced to hold enema’s in, good old fashioned southern child abuse.

Ezra scrunches up his legs to be able to lower his shoulders into the steaming bath. Slightly tinted pink from a thrashing with the horsewhip. The tub was too small, his legs were nearly starting to cramp but he didn’t care. The water felt so good and his body welcomed the reprieve. The wall heater whirrs on and off. It looked like a fire hazard straight from the 1950’s. It felt nice nonetheless. The weather had been strange, a late winter snowfall brought a deep chill into the quiet house on the mountain. A blanket of white in every direction.

The bathroom door was removed long before he got here. Josiah’s bedroom across the hall, his bed in full view of the tub. The most privacy he was allowed here.

But the man was preoccupied with his wooden record crate of VHS tapes. The sight of which always brought Ezra unease. From time to time he would be forced to watch the wretched contents. Hours and hours of torture and suffering. Josiah would rewind certain parts. Last moments replayed over and over, so he could chase that feeling of his victim’s utter helplessness. 

Static buzzes harsh and loud as the old TV flickers on then it starts. He knows this one. He’s seen it before. He sees in when he closes his eyes.

“Sweet turtledove be still.” You can hear her screaming in the tub under the water. In the same upstairs bathroom he was currently finding comfort in with the horrible blue wallpaper and white ceiling spotted with black mold. 

Ezra tried to sink as low into the water as he could to escape the sounds of despair that echoed through the tiles around the tub.

“Still.” Josiah’s hushed voice sounded almost melancholic as the woman‘s struggling ceased. 

The VCR stops and rewinds for a few minutes back to the beginning. 

Ezra slides under the water, opening his eyes, the sounds of a woman being murdered again and again pushed further away. 

This black mold covered ceiling was the last thing she saw before the devil cleansed her sins. He closes his eyes.

_What will be the last thing I see?_


	8. Sunday Morning Coming Down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> cw: captivity, creepy/intimate whumper, broken bones, hand trauma, mentions of snuff films

Ezra stared ahead at the wall of pine being dusted with snow in a haze. The wind whistled through the trees, making them sway slightly. Curled up on creaky porch swing, the chain around his irritated ankle rattles with the slight back and forth of the swift breeze. Thankful to be in the fresh air and not chained up in the pitch black basement closet. Josiah knew he wouldn’t get very far with the weight, Ezra struggled to even carry it around the dilapidated house. With new limited freedom came new limited joys. Like the first moment of peace he’s had since being brought to this aging mountain home. 

Josiah had risen with the roosters that morning. Pulling Ezra out of bed before the sun rose to start breakfast for them before Josiah got to work on some last minute choring. 

‘A bastard of a blizzards coming.’ He said. Voice still gruff from sleep. An unexpected freak storm so late in the winter meant lots to prepare for. Earlier while Josiah was occupied brewing coffee, Ezra managed to sneak a peek at the calendar taped to the refrigerator. Each day marked out with a red marker, he counted quickly. 

_Seventeen days._

That’s how long he’d been the plaything of the deranged back country psychopath.

_How many of the others made it this far?_

Whenever he’s forced to watch those horrible videos, he tries to keep track of the number of tapes for each victim. Some victims only appear once or twice while others appear dozens of times. There would be no telling when Josiah would finally get bored and dispose of him for good.

Shaking off the thought he sips his coffee, the best he’d had in a while in fact, then places it back down to its original spot on the railing next to him. Placed there originally by his captor. Josiah carried it out to the porch for him, trailing slowly behind Ezra with it as he struggled to carry his cement block with a right hand full of broken fingers. Reset and shoddily duct taped together after Josiah broke each one. The sickening crack of his bones echoing off the bathroom tile. Sealing his dubious patch up job with a kiss. With a storm heading their way and no time to waste, Josiah decided Ezra’s injury made him dead weight. Mercifully permitting him to rest on the porch.

Movement in the corner of his eye pulls him from his thoughts. An axe being swung and coming down hard on a split piece of log, splitting it in two, making Ezra flinch. Josiah stepped back to rest a moment, his panting breath thick in the frigid air. Noticing his captive studying him, he shoots him a sly wink before continuing to chop. Surely this break would come at a price.

This is typically what a normal morning would be for Ezra at home. Minus the foreboding. Sitting in the yellow lawn chair he pulled out of someone’s bulk garbage on the makeshift porch of his trailer mug in hand. He’d catch up on college football results or maybe water the flowers if they needed it. Taking care not to over water his yellow rose bush.

Now he wakes up in a stranger’s arms. Makes his breakfast - sausage, grits, eggs and a piece of toast and prepares himself for the unknowable ahead. The man’s moods day to day vary between jovial and bloodthirsty.

Ezra heard the faint sound of a train moving across tracks echoing through the woods, the horn a distant signal guiding him towards freedom. He stared through the trees, struggling to pinpoint the direction that the sound came from. He was so focused on his desperate attempt to locate the far cry of civilization that he didn’t hear Josiah stop splitting wood, he didn’t hear him walk up onto the porch, he didn’t hear him sigh softly as he stared over his head into the woods. Ezra nearly jumped out of his skin as Josiah wrapped his arms around his shoulders, his voice husky in his ear as he chuckled.

“Go on, boy. Run. Try to find it. I’ll be on you faster than a tick on a coonhound. You won’t like what happens when I drag your sorry ass back here.” Josiah’s promise is a breathy whisper that sends Ezra’s heart racing into a panic. He stands, giving Ezra’s shoulders a hard squeeze.

“Lord willing the roads won’t be too bad come next week. The Boone clan is coming over for some overdue Sunday supper. I think it’s time y'all get properly acquainted.” Ezra stiffens, looking behind him to see a satisfied grin on the man’s face as he drank in the reaction he was fishing for. “I think they’re gonna like you Baby.”

_No. This can’t be real. It can’t.._

“Don’t stay out here too long, you’ll catch your death in this chill.” Josiah words trailed off as he walked through the back door, leaving Ezra shivering alone on the withered porch. He turns to face the tree again, willing the train whistle to sound it’s guiding beacon once more.


	9. Choice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> cw: content warnings: brief noncon touch, captivity, intimate/creepy whumper, dislocated bones, mentions of death, mentions of murder, mention of mouth trauma, knives, forced to watch torture

He knows he’s taking way too long. The nascar clock above the deep freeze ticks loudly. Twenty minutes have gone by since Josiah sent him out to the garage. It was his turn to pick something out for movie night.

Ezra sits atop his concrete block and rifles through the box of videotapes with his good hand, moving the worst ones off to the side. The ones that oozed a black sludge of fear and death. Just the sight of them makes him shudder.

Should they watch Big Boy’s arms dislocate one by one as he hangs from a tree by his wrists like a ragdoll? How about Honeybee tearing her super glued lips apart to scream as Cheyenne cuts her open with a hunting knife? Or maybe see Goldie sing at his own funeral before getting buried alive for the 100th time?

He feels the ever present churning in his belly as the images replay in his head.

“Baby, what’s takin’ so damn long?” Josiah’s voice booms from the doorway, nearly making Ezra jump out of his skin. Just barely catching the tape in his lap before it falls to the floor.

“I-I’m sorry,” he says unable to hide the quiver in his voice while he gathers the remaining tapes and puts them away. All except one. The tape he can stomach far more than the others. “I was having trouble deciding b-but I got one.” Ezra slowly lifts his block from the ground and walks towards the giant man clad only in his camo pajama pants. 

Josiah grabs the VHS from atop the block in Ezra’s arms and slides it out of it’s cardboard sleeve. Ezra relaxes at the pleased look on his captor’s face when he reads the label. He’d done good.

“Go on up to bed Baby and I’ll make us some popcorn for the show.” Josiah gives him a slap on the ass while Ezra gets his head start walking up the stairs, his block makes it take an eternity to get there. 

Ezra stares blankly at the screen. He’s seen this one so many times before, he’s numb to it now. Josiah sits behind him on the bed, munching away on his Butter Lovers popcorn.

“You look so pretty in this one Baby.”


	10. "Are you going to kill me?"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> cw: panic attack, death mention, mentions of murder, captivity, sadistic whumper, mentions of torture, death anxiety, aftermath of sleep deprivation, chained up

“Are you going to kill me?” 

The words spill out of his mouth before he can stop himself. Days of sleep deprivation have caught up to Ezra and he feels himself unraveling in the worst way. Unable to cope with Josiah’s constant demands and the forced domesticity thrust upon him.

His captor stares up at him from the breakfast table, his face an unreadable mask as he mutes the small outdated tv set on the counter.

Ezra expected to be doubled over on the floor by now. Josiah moves swiftly for a man his size. Sometimes you don’t even hear him coming.

Ezra stands shakily by the stove where he’s chained to the new anchor Josiah installed there when he decided he didn’t want Mama’s floor all scuffed up by his cement block anymore. 

“When you’re done with me-” his voice trembles with every word. “When you’ve had your fill of me. I’m dead. You’re going to bury me in these woods.”

“Baby-” Josiah says with a mouth half full of biscuit.

“My baby sister won’t know what happened to me. She’s going to think I abandoned her. I’m just more tapes in a box. Another grave in the woods!”

“Baby-”

“No.” Ezra interrupts him again. There’s no turning back now. “I know that’s how it will end for me. You don’t love me. You love how hurting me feels.”

He was so tired. So sick of it. Being dragged out to the garage nearly every night to endure the implements Josiah pulls from his workbench, the worst toy box ever. 

“Everyday I wake up thinking it’s my last day on earth. That you’ll get bored with me. Just like the others.” 

“I can’t do this anymore, Josiah. I can’t do it. I can’t. I can’t-”

He doesn’t see Josiah coming as he spirals further and further into a panic. 

Josiah slaps him so hard across the face he snaps out of it, crumpling to the floor when his legs give out beneath him. The tears cascade down his cheeks as he stares up at the giant looming over him, his eyes wide and full of fear. Just waiting for the end. 

“No more of that. You hear me? Nobody’s dyin’ today. Now get yer ass up and finish with them grits.”

Ezra sits in stunned silence for a moment before jumping back up to his feet. Frantically trying to save the grits that were now burning in the pot on the stove.

The volume on the tiny television goes back up behind him, a tinny sounding laugh track of a long dead audience drowns out the sounds of Ezra’s sobs while he scrapes the burnt grits into the trash.


	11. Sunshine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> content warnings: murder, whipping, gore, death, hanging, torture, snuff films, forced to watch, captivity, creepy whumper, noncon touching, starvation, mild religious whump, threats of violence, mention of human hunting

The wind roared through the pines as the snow storm raged furiously outside, expected to continue into the night. The wood in the fireplace burned low, casting a dim light over the basement den. Josiah paid it no mind, his focus on straddling Ezra’s bound body, pressing him harder into the couch as he tightens the last strap on his most stunning piece yet. It was beautiful, made of dark brown, hand stitched leather, customized to fit the lower half of Ezra’s face snugly. “Lean your head back, lemme get a good look at ya.” Ezra obeyed, allowing his head to be turned in every direction while the man inspected his craftsmanship. Josiah ran his fingers along the top edge of the muzzle, making certain the fit was tight. The smell of Josiah’s hair pomade overwhelmed his nostrils as the man leaned over to lock the muzzle in place. Click. Finally he sat back on Ezra’s lap with a satisfied smile as he added the padlock key to the chain of his cherished silver cross necklace. Josiah returned the chain to his neck, patting the pendant and key in a smug show of its location. Right next to his heart.

“Hot damn! I’m good. Take a gander at that.” He grabs a hand mirror from the side table and holds it up in front of Ezra, who sinks at the sight of himself. Muzzled like a disobedient dog, bruising all over his face in varying stages of purple and yellow from the previous days beatings. The leather was almost molded to his face, too tight and beginning to irritate the days old stubble on his chin.

That morning Josiah sat at the kitchen table awaiting his usual breakfast, having coffee and watching Saturday morning cartoons. Ezra’s broken fingers were wrapped in duct tape, making them almost useless. The limited movement of the makeshift splints and the sticky residue that crept up his skin made cooking difficult. Sausage simmered away in the heavy cast iron skillet and Ezra pulled the basket of eggs from the fridge, forcing himself to concentrate on making his hands work as efficiently as possible. He fumbled with it for a moment before it fell to the floor next to his block, splattering egg yolk in all directions. Josiah sighed at the sight of his captive scrambling to clean his mess. Because of the snow, Josiah wouldn’t be able to get fresh eggs from Herschel until he brought some to supper next Sunday. “You better hope Songbird’s chickens are laying.” No immediate punishment came, giving Ezra a feeling of foreboding he carried with him throughout the day as he cleaned. Hours later Josiah returned from tinkering in the garage with a sinister gleam in his eye and the muzzle in his hand.

“When you learn to cook without wasting God’s Gifts, as Mama would say, then you can eat. No sneaking a bite.” Josiah says, giving Ezra a pat on the cheek as he stands and heads upstairs to warm his TV dinner in the microwave. Returning a few moments later juggling a beer, his steaming meatloaf dinner and a VHS tape. Ezra’s stomach churns. He hated this. He’d almost rather Josiah beat him bloody again than endure anymore of his homemade snuff movies. 

SUNSHINE 15 in red block letters was scratched on the worn outer label, disappearing with a push into the ancient looking VCR. “This is a good one.” Josiah says excitedly as if he were talking about an episode of a tv show. He pulls a TV dinner tray table from beside the couch and sets his meal up in front of him. The meatloaf looked revolting but the smell was heaven, forcing Ezra to swallow the saliva collecting in his mouth. He was already so hungry, Josiah only allowing Ezra a slice of unbuttered toast for breakfast before he cleaned the house from top to bottom. All the while dragging his block along with him. Ezra was fucking starving. 

Josiah chuckled when he glimpsed the hunger already showing on his boy’s face. “Smell’s good don’t it, Baby? Tastes good too. Not as good as Mama’s but still adequate. Maybe I’ll let you lick the plate when I’m done.” The ginger devil piled a big bite of meatloaf and mashed potatoes onto his fork looking pleased. A blood curdling scream turns his attention away from the food and onto the screen. 

A blonde, mustached young man hangs from his wrists by an old, worn in rope, looped around the branch of the old oak tree in the backyard. A much younger Josiah is putting out a cigarette on the man’s neck while a muzzled young woman with dark curly hair kneels on the ground beside him. She’s clutching the bound man’s leg. She was shaking with fear as she looked up at the blonde man covered in angry cigarette burns who was mouthing words down to her, trying to soothe her. The early afternoon sun beamed down on them, casting shadows of leaves on the woman’s brown skin. 

‘Turtledove.’ Ezra spent many hours watching her tapes, Josiah tended to rewind hers the most. He said she had been with him for nearly a year before she was “called home to the Lord.” Ezra thought he’d seen the brief flicker of mourning on Josiah’s face at the memory. She was always alone in the tapes marked Turtledove he’d seen up to this point. Who was this man? Josiah gives his shoulder a tap, pointing at the screen. “Look! Here comes my little cousin Herschel when he was skinnier than a broom handle.”

A tall, lanky boy who looked about high school age walks into frame from the left side holding something Ezra can’t quite make out. Turtledove clutches Sunshine tighter at the sight of it as he comes towards them. “Come on, sweet Turtledove. We don’t want that pretty face gettin’ all tore up.” Josiah says as he drags her away from Sunshine towards the tree, making her kneel there. You can hear her sniffling as she begins to cry. “Let us go you hillbilly fucks!” Sunshine barks while he tugs at his restraints. Josiah reaches into his back pocket and retrieves a black bandana. Sunshine tries to squirm away from the gag from being secured around his head but fails. Josiah ties it harshly around the man’s head. “You’re gonna be happy to have this in a minute.” Josiah says, lighting up another cigarette while the gagged man grunts.

Ezra freezes. ‘Claire!’ Seeing them together made something click in his head, making a forgotten memory clear as day. He remembered seeing their faces plastered all over the local news for a full month during his sophomore year of high school. ATLANTA COUPLE DISAPPEARS ON HONEYMOON. The headline of his father’s paper read. Ben and Claire Addams. The photo underneath the headline was of their smiling faces in the store front of their popular sandwich shop downtown. Too busy with the restaurant to take a proper honeymoon when they married the year prior in 2002, they decided to give themselves a much needed break by taking a road trip down to Daytona. When they never reached their destination, everyone feared the worst. Searches ran up and down Highway 27 in the hopes that maybe they were just stuck somewhere along the way. Their case went cold when the cops turned up with nothing. No trace of the couple. Until now.

_’Ben and Claire Addams. I have to remember their names.’_

The boy threads the bullwhip through his hand, feeling the course leather. “You’re gonna wanna take your time or they pass out on you.” Josiah said while standing behind Sunshine. You can hear the sound of fabric being sliced. He tries to jerk away but is stopped short by a hand yanking him back by the hair, looking down into his eyes. “Be still or yer gonna make this worse than it needs to be, boy.” Josiah growls and roughly turns Sunshine around so his exposed back is to the camera. The signs of past torture litter his body. His breathing is quickening. The boy circles him silently, his shocking blue eyes show no sign of humanity. 

“His daddy whatn’t around. Sent to the penitentiary when Herschel was just a boy. So me and our Papaw had to be there to raise him right. I’d watch out for that one if I were you.” Josiah says as he finishes the last of his tv dinner. Ezra groaned behind the muzzle, his stomach still empty. Josiah perks up when Turtledove begins to whimper, turning up the volume. There’s a visible change in the ginger demon’s face, he’s trying to relive the thrill of the experience. Moving the tray table aside, he settles back into the couch beer in hand. Ezra’s heart starts to race when he feels the man’s fingers begin to card through his hair. “Here we go.” 

Herschel begins with a shaky start, the first few strikes are clumsy and miss Sunshine entirely. The sound of the crack enough to make him flinch. The boy quickly gets the hang of it though, planting six hard strikes that wrap around the man’s torso. Sunshine’s pained cries are muffled by the bandana in his mouth. Severe looking welts are already forming. “Yer a natural, kid. Keep going, he can take more.” Josiah is smiling from ear to ear like a new proud dad while Turtledove sobs on the ground next to him. 

“I want to be able to hear him.” Herschel’s statement is a quiet request the older man immediately understands, removing the bandana and pocketing it again.

“Please. Please don’t do this.” Sunshine begs as he looks over his shoulder to search the faces of the men, only finding cold indifference there. Josiah walks over to him and puts out another cigarette on his neck before moving out of the way. The blonde man howls and drops his head forward. Herschel plants his feet and cracks the whip again, opening a long gash on Sunshine’s shoulder. Turtledove tries to get up but Josiah shoves her back down. He runs a hand through her curls then tightens his grip, yanking her head up to watch. “Don’t fucking touch her!” Sunshine growled, voice shaking with anger. Another gash is opened on his back by the eerily quiet teenager, blood drips down onto the man’s ragged grey sweatpants. 

The whip cracks five more times, opening up more and more of Sunshine’s flesh. Herschel circles the man again, stopping in front of him to study his face as he begins to have trouble standing. The boy’s white shirt is stained with sweat. The sun’s position has shifted, reflecting off the cascading blood. He moves back behind Sunshine, who tries to dodge the next few strikes. “Maybe you wanna tag out and let the ol ball and chain have a turn huh? I bet the boy would like that.” Josiah says while pulling Turtledove to her feet. The kid lights up at the suggestion.

“No!” Sunshine straightens and angles his body towards the man holding his crying wife by the hair. “Just..please. Don’t hurt her. I won’t fight. I’ll take it.” Sunshine’s plea sounded weak and desperate. “Please.” Herschel is pacing back and forth, antsy to continue.

“You have my word as a southern gentleman.” Josiah’s tone is serious as smoke billows from his mouth. Turtledove reaches up and touches Sunshine’s face for a moment before she’s pulled away again. 

“It’ll be ok, Claire. It’s ok.” His voice broke, sounding unsure. Crack! Herschel continues again. Sunshine keens behind a clenched jaw but remains still. Three more gashes open. A slow flow of red is staining the back of the man’s sweatpants. Herschel moves in front to face Sunshine, his voice is deep. 

“Is your heart with the Lord?” Herschel says almost too low to hear as he waits for Sunshine’s answer. The bloody man takes a shuddered breath before speaking. “Yes it is.” Herschel moves quickly back to position and unleashes carnage, fueled by the faith in Sunshine’s voice, the whip striking over and over until Sunshine’s legs give out beneath him.

The teenager walks back over to the wounded man and drags his fingers down the valleys of open flesh. Sunshine screams hoarsely, his voice almost going out midway. “Can you hold her here?” Herschel quietly asks his older cousin. Josiah pulls Turtledove up by her upper arms and then holds her by the chin forcing her muzzled face close to her husbands shredded back. Herschel sticks his dirty fingers into the wounds, digging in deep. Sunshine jerks but is too weak to escape the prodding fingers. Turtledove cries out loudly behind the muzzle. Herschel is watching her face closely, savoring her desperation like the smell of a hot apple pie. Soaking it in, his body is shivering with the thrill. 

Ezra watches in horror, a boy so young capable of so much brutality. ‘What kind of monster did this kid turn into?’ The thought brought bile to the back of his throat, he swallowed it down no place for it to go. Josiah notices his panic, clapping him on the back. “Pay attention, Baby. It’s the best part.”

Sunshine hangs limply from the branch. The grass beneath him is darkened with blood. His wrists are cut down and he falls to the ground in a heap. Josiah disappears for a moment - the sounds of cooler opening can be heard, then he returns with a beer in hand. Turtledove drops down and crawls swiftly to Sunshine, holding his head up in her hands. She presses her forehead to his. He weakly looks up at her and mouths something. The man looks near death. 

Josiah loops the rope back around the tree after refashioning it into a noose. Turtledove sees the noose and panics, covering her husband’s body with hers. Josiah yanks her up by her hair and throws her to the side then loops noose around Sunshine’s neck, tightening it. Josiah pulls on the rope and Sunshine lets out a cry of pain and fear before his voice is cut off. He hangs, his feet dangling helplessly and the only thing that can be heard over Turtledove’s sobs is the sounds of the rope creaking over the old tree branch. Josiah ties off the rope, anchoring Sunshine’s body where it hangs, and pulls Turtledove to her feet. Her knees buckle under the weight of her horror, but Josiah keeps a firm arm looped around her waist as he sips his beer casually - as if he’s watching the start of a Nascar race. Minutes pass like hours, only the clock at the bottom corner of the screen indicating how quickly it all happens. When the blonde man’s body finally stops twitching and jerking, when he’s swaying lifelessly from the rope that clearly has been used so many times before, Josiah finally releases her. Turtledove sinks to her knees in front of him, looking up at his lifeless face with a desperate wail. When she’s sure she won’t find another trace of life in his face, she presses her face to his feet, clinging to his body as if she wishes he would take her with him, and sobs. His death is only commemorated by the date at the bottom of the screen; July 25, 2003. It cuts to black and then to static, a chilling finality to the cruelty that had just played as if it were any other home movie.

When the tape mercifully comes to an end, Ezra blinks away silent tears. Josiah had gotten up at some point, returning shortly with another tape. This one marked Darlin’. Ezra shakes his head. ’Please God not another one.’ He had just watched an innocent couple be terrorized for two hours and now he would have to go through it again. “Yer gonna meet my little cousin Cheyenne on Sunday too. She’s gonna love you baby.” Josiah gives him a grin before he pops in a tape labeled Darlin’. Josiah grabs the blue and white patchwork quilt off the back of the sofa and joins Ezra on the floor, snuggling him close then wrapped the blanket around the two of them. On the screen the camera circles a young blond woman with wavy hair as she straddles a dirt caked man screaming in a wooded area. There are several small arrows sticking out of his body. The woman laughs and twists the embedded arrow causing the man to scream bloody murder. 

The devil beside him squeezes him tighter as the storm outside still howls, the fire nothing but dying embers. Ezra shivers as he thinks, wondering how he could have been so wrong as to assume that there was only one devil to fear. He had no idea how he had surrounded himself in evil. He shivers, his body responding to the icy chill of fear that runs down his spine. Josiah pulls him closer and rubs his back, mistakenly assuming the shiver is from the draft that snuck in the small window. 

_‘I might not make it out of here alive.’_


	12. Brontide

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> cw: blood, torture mention, thoughts of death

Brontide - The low rumbling of distant thunder.

It was finally quiet for once. Only the sounds of hard freezing rain hitting the frozen ground outside the open garage door and his own labored breathing. No loud music, no torture videos, no threats. Just blissful quiet.

Fingers scratched lazily at the back of his hair as his head rested against Josiah’s thigh, both men watching the rain fall on top of the melting snow. His inebriated captor not concerned with the blood from Ezra’s nose ruining his favorite pants, the ones he previously warned Ezra not to mess up in the washing machine. The whip marks from the flannel shirt incident still stung when they brushed the cotton of his shirt.

He hated himself for having to lean on the man who thirty minutes earlier was using him as a punching bag, hated to be this close to him, to need him at all but it was bitterly cold and he was in too much pain to care. 

A nearly empty whiskey bottle clinks down on the floor next to Josiah’s bloody brass knuckles. Ezra flinches at the sudden noise, his tired groan muffled by the rigid leather strapped to his face. Josiah promised the leather would wear in over time. Like a baseball glove. 

The dim flashes of lightning are getting brighter as the storm moves closer, illuminating the dark line of trees. He feels Josiah shift behind him in the fold up canvas chair but he doesn’t lift his head. Not that he had the strength to. Josiah leans over him and dabs the blood on his face with the bandana from his back pocket. 

The blood he spilled. 

Ezra closes his weary eyes and listens to the sound of the distant thunder rolling down the mountain. He feels it in his chest, vibrating his weakened core. Ezra wondered if this was what a death rattle felt like, if he’d feel the threatening unsteadiness in his chest again as Josiah’s violent whims rolled over him like the thunder over the mountains.


	13. Church

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The family goes to Sunday Church
> 
> THIS IS PART ONE OF A FOUR PART COLLAB WITH SIMPLYGRIMLY AND IS CANON FOR THIS AND [HERSHEY'S KISSES](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28096035/chapters/68838921)!
> 
> CONTENT WARNING: DEAD DOVE, DO NOT EAT! VERY creepy whumper, religious setting, some preaching (ACTUAL preaching, not Herschel’s nut case preaching), praying, mentions of past victims, trauma bonding, moments of whumper being legitimately kind, fucked up relationship between whumper and whumpee, lady whump, lady whumpee
> 
> [RECORD: Wild Horses (Acoustic) by Bishop Briggs ~Records can be found on the Hershey's Kisses Soundtrack, linked in the HK series description!](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6I0hXe0cMUM&ab_channel=BishopBriggsVEVO)

Songbird rested her head against the window of Herschel’s beat up Ford truck, oddly soothed by the way the worn-in seats seemed to vibrate in response to the uneven ground. The day was unusually warm, the sunshine melting the snow so that bright green patches of grass peaked from the remnants of the late winter storm, melted snow trickled in chilly rivulets into the roads. 

“Josiah said he’d be comin’ today,” Herschel glanced at her as he spoke softly. He knew that she’d been hoping Josiah would show up, it always seemed to lift her spirits to have the family at Church with her. “You know it’s that time of year for him - when he lost Turtledove.” 

She gave him a sad smile and nodded. Songbird was too aware of how difficult it was for Josiah to deal with his grief; he hid it well but even after so long he still mourned her. He showed up at church a few times a year, but she could always count on him around the end of winter, when he was caught up in thoughts of what he had lost. 

Herschel turned his attention back to the road, but Songbird kept her eyes on him, admiring the lines of his face as he focused on the drive ahead of them. She appreciated Sunday mornings; the quiet of the drive as he took them to the little church, the easy way he spoke to her as the peace of their routine settled his soul for just a little while, the way the tension in his shoulders seemed to fade for just a little while. 

They pulled up to the quaint little chapel, the white painted wood of the simple building stood out in stark contrast to the deep greens and browns of the mountains around them. The little house of worship always struck Songbird like a glimpse of God amidst the wonders of the earth. 

She kept her hands folded in her lap as Herschel parked the truck and got out. It was impossible to hide her smile of gratitude when he walked around to the passenger side, as he did every time he took her anywhere, opened the truck door for her and offered his hand to help her slide from the old bucket seat to the still frozen ground. 

The shadow of the cross that perched atop the steeple spread long and dark across the ground, as if God himself were reaching for them, inviting them into the warmth and safety of His embrace. Songbird sighed contentedly, the gentle familiarity of their Sunday morning routine always served as a calming and consistent reminder of what she saw beneath the touch of the Devil in Herschel. It was a small reassurance that he could be better, that he could still be saved if she continued to treat him with gentle patience and forgiveness. 

Herschel never pulled his hand from hers, they stayed close together in the same genuine moment of affection that always came with church mornings. The serenity of the day tied them together with a nearly unbreakable bond that neither one of them questioned or pushed against. They leisurely walked, side by side, across the shadow of the cross and into the single room of the little mountain church, and settled into a pew off to the side - Songbird took care to ensure that they were easy to find for when Josiah turned up. She was all too aware that it would be a difficult day for him and she wanted to be sure he could be close to them, to be sure that she could easily reach out and lend him support should he need it. 

It wasn’t long before the congregation had filled the pews and the Preacher was standing at the pulpit smiling and saying hellos. Josiah slipped into the pew beside her and Songbird gave him a bright smile in welcome. 

“Hey Tweety,” he said gruffly before nodding at Herschel. He looked tired, his eyes ringed with dark circles that betrayed his casual smile and made it clear that he hadn’t slept well the night before, possibly a few nights before that. His usually clean shaven face was shadowed with stubble, and his hair was simply combed to the side rather than delicately styled as he typically preferred. She noted the lingering wrinkles in his button down shirt, internally wondering if his new boy wasn’t quite up to the housework he required. 

She set a hand gently on his arm, passing him a look of gentle concern that he waved off with his practiced smile. “I’ll be alright, Sugar. No need ta worry ‘bout me. Just hopin’ you got some more eggs for me?” 

Songbird’s smile brightened and she nodded, Herschel answered for her - seamlessly intuiting her thoughts that she wouldn’t verbalize. “They’re out in the truck, the chickens are layin’ fine so she packed extra this week.” 

“‘Preciate it, been missin’ my usual breakfast this week.”

The Preacher cleared his throat and they turned their attention forward. Songbird absentmindedly ran her fingers over the soft leather cover of her bible as the Preacher started his sermon. 

Today I thank you God, for blessing us with another opportunity to be in His house and I come to you tonight Lord and I ask you that you hide us behind the cross. That you help us God and forgive us our sins. 

Josiah leaned over and whispered, “Ya know bein’ here ain’t gonna do nothin’ for me, Songbird.” He rolled his eyes as she shot him a reproachful look, but he went quiet and sat up straight, arms folded across his chest. Songbird patted his arm gently, offering a small gesture of thanks as she turned her attention back to the Preacher as his sermon carried through the chapel. 

His voice rolled through the pews, reaching out to touch everyone in the little room as they murmured comments of agreement to his rhetoric. The jumble of passionate ‘amen’s and ‘thank you God’s settled over Songbird like a warm blanket, and she allowed herself to be drawn into the warmth and safety of the congregation. 

That we may be obedient to Your will, Lord. That we may be feeble and hungry but that You may take your word and feed us, Your faithful servants on Earth, to give us strength.

She closed her eyes and took in a deep breath, savoring the feeling of what she was sure was pure faith as it filled her chest and eased the worry that she carried in her heart. She splayed her fingers over the open pages of her Bible, lost in the quiet flutter of the soft pages. She focused on pulling strength from the words beneath her fingers, determined to live in quiet grace just like God’s words - always at the tips of her fingers should she need them but never a loud or imposing presence in her life. 

Strength to resist temptation and free ourselves of the bondage of sin. That You, our Lord God, show us the way to release ourselves from the bondage that we inflict upon ourselves in our trespass of faith and our weakness against sin. 

Herschel sighed and laid a hand on her thigh. It was warm and heavy on her lap, offering an added layer of comfort as Songbird felt the familiar safety that came with touches like this. She rested her head on his shoulder as she considered the silent promise of protection that the simple gesture provided, only asking that she continue to have faith in him and help him make himself better in the eyes of the Lord in exchange. 

He glanced down at her and his lips curved in a gentle smile, crinkling the corners of his blue eyes just enough to make Songbird flush a pretty shade of pink. She loved him like this, calm and soothing, easy and soft. She closed her eyes and thought a quick prayer, asking God to keep him soft for her. 

That you feed us with Your word so that when the Devil himself rises up to tempt us, we may see the path You have laid out for us to lead us away from sin. Give us the strength, oh Lord, that we may resist the temptation to stray away from You, our Lord God, and Your light.

Josiah stiffened beside her, the dark shadow of a memory passed over his face as he recalled his sin, the way he had let his darkness consume another - destroy another. Songbird could feel the tension in his muscles radiating from him, quivering in the air like the vibration cast by the strings on a violin. 

He was all too aware of how far he had strayed from God’s light, how deep he had allowed himself to be pulled into the darkness of his desires. He had faced the devil more than once, and given him more and more of his soul with each sinister encounter, falling deeper into the pits of depravity as the years went on. 

Behold the Lamb of God, that You have sent unto us, blessed with the power to relieve us of our sins and free us from the chains of Satan. God hath promised us His love, His assurance that if we know Him in our hearts, stay true to Him in our souls, that we shall know His love. 

She laced her fingers in Herschel’s, clinging softly to the firm grip of his hand as if she could anchor him in the light that she felt in the air around her. Songbird had no doubt that God was with her, that she had him safely in her heart and that she would be rewarded for her faith. But Herschel struggled, and she yearned to bring him closer to the Lord so that he could feel the same serenity that she so often experienced - even in the face of her worst nightmares.

God promises to bring judgement down on those who have forgotten him, who have wandered into the arms of Satan. He hath assured us that should we forget Him and put our faith in temptation and sin, we will feel the wrath of the Almighty Lord’s displeasure. 

Josiah leaned forward and put his head in his hands, ducking his face out of the Preacher’s sight. Songbird let him sit for a moment, she chose to ignore the tears that she saw fall into his lap to allow him to feel as though he were preserving his dignity. The moment of vulnerability touched Songbird’s heart, made her want to wrap him as tightly in her small embrace as she could. Josiah would have been ashamed if he knew she had noticed, Songbird knew that he’d have felt it was showing weakness - something that both boys had been taught at an early age by their Papaw Blevins. 

He took a deep breath and sat up, the hard mask of indifference settled over his features as he pulled a flask from the back pocket of his jeans and took a long draw. He glanced down at Songbird as he tucked it away, sure that he would find a scowl of disapproval on her angelic features. She surprised him by tenderly brushing a stray lock of his uncombed strawberry blonde hair from his face, setting it back in its place before she lightly caressed his jawline with the backs of her fingers. 

Another tear slipped, a tiny crack in the veneer of his carefully constructed exterior. He looked down at her sadly, but he wasn’t seeing Songbird. He was looking at his Turtledove, mourning the loss of his angel. He was hating himself for breaking her, for taking her from a world that never deserved her in the first place. 

Our faith in God, in His way, is what will lead us to the gates of Heaven and into His holy light. But those that forget God and languish in the sins of the flesh, in the sins of our own wrath and anger, in the sins of envy, will be cast out from His grace and left to simmer in the fiery pits of Hell. 

Herschel watched his cousin closely, observing the flickers of emotion that danced on his features as Songbird comforted him. He had spoken of Turtledove only a few times in the 16 years since she had been sent home to God, but it was clear that she still haunted Josiah. His feelings for her were still potent enough to encourage him to warn Herschel against making the same mistakes that he had; he had warned him to take care not to drive Songbird away, not to break her spirit. He had whispered to him in the cool night air almost three years ago that Songbird was a gift, one that Herschel should take care not to squander in the same manner he had.

He knew that his cousin was right. It wasn’t lost on him how faithfully she took care of him, how hard she pushed for him to keep himself right with the Lord, how hard she tried to love him without hesitation. Herschel was all too aware of the fact that he didn’t deserve her, that he didn’t deserve her devotion or affection. And he was all too aware that he would likely break her the same way Josiah had broken his Turtledove; that he would destroy her so completely that she would beg for death.

In Jesus’ name we pray, Amen.

Josiah stood before the congregation could even finish uttering the final prayer, muttering to Herschel that he would see them at his place for brunch and making a beeline for the door. When he disappeared from view and Songbird was sure that he wouldn’t come back, she finally let her sadness for him show. Her shoulders sagged and she looked up at Herschel with worry in her eyes. 

“I know Darlin’,” Herschel said softly. “But you’ll cheer him up a bit when we get to his place. He always likes to hear you sing.” Songbird bit her lip and nodded, but the troubled expression didn’t ease. “Come on, we’d better get going if we want to beat Cheyenne to Josiah’s.” 

He started to make his way down the aisle but Songbird reached out and took his hand, gently pulling him to a stop. She looked at him imploringly as he turned back to her, pleading with him with her eyes. Herschel thought for a moment, but realization quickly dawned on him and he nodded. “You’re right, baby. I promised.”

She watched intently as he walked slowly towards the front of the Chapel, his eyes fixed on the ten foot cross that was perched to the far left of the stage. Despite being no more than plain wood and a faded layer of paint, it loomed over him as if it could see into his soul, as if it were a pair of eyes that knew every dark thought that lurked in his mind, every wicked impulse that ran through his veins, and every sin that marred his flesh. 

He dropped to his knees and let his hands hang at his sides, palms turned towards the cross as he looked up at it. Herschel closed his eyes and took a deep breath, praying that God would pull the Devil from his soul and ease the burning need for violence that devoured him from the inside and made him itch until he fed the Demon within him. 

Songbird stood behind him and laid a hand on the back of Herschel’s head. She bowed her head and pressed her eyes closed, praying from the darkest corners of her mind for Herschel to be saved from the wicked fate that he was quickly headed towards.


	14. Brunch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The family gets together for Sunday Brunch
> 
> THIS IS PART TWO OF A FOUR PART COLLAB WITH SIMPLYGRIMLY AND IS CANON FOR THIS AND [HERSHEY'S KISSES](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28096035/chapters/68838921)!
> 
> CONTENT WARNINGS: GORE, forced body suspension, hooks in skin, torture, blood, references to torture, creepy whumper, sadistic whumper, multiple whumpers, lady whumper, lady whumpee, starvation, dehydration, captivity, dehumanization, alcohol, humiliation, restrained, muzzled, chained up, mentions of past victims, threats of violence, strangulation, brief mention of hunting humans, descriptions of past murders, threats of cutting with glass
> 
> [RECORD: Rock On by David Essex](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pR9XVlv3p4s&t=5s&ab_channel=maestroronnepon)

The old cuckoo clock in the kitchen chirped it’s 11am chirp startling Ezra out of his hunger induced haze. He’d been washing the same pyrex bowl for the last ten minutes while he zoned out and stared into that wall of pine. Josiah had been in a hell of a mood all week. He forced Ezra to stay awake the night before to clean the house from top to bottom while he sat out in the garage for the fourth night in a row drinking. Even though it was grueling to clean through the pain and hunger, Ezra was thankful for a break from the whiskey breath and bloody knuckles. From sleeping on the cold concrete of the garage when Josiah had finally tired himself out beating the hell out of him. He had a little bit of time left to rest before the arrival of his captor’s family for brunch at noon. The same family that shared Josiah’s unholy blood, the family whose wicked stories had been used to taunt him all week.

Ezra couldn’t stop the memories of the last week that flashed through his mind. Josiah cracking his knuckles as he tells him about Herschel’s affinity for brass ones - how lucky he is that Josiah doesn’t use his set on him now. Josiah’s fists landing against his flesh in hard, wet, packing sounds that echo in the garage. Josiah’s cheery tone as he recalls Cheyenne’s favorite games to play with whoever her rabbit was at any given time. The way the cold floor felt good against the bruises to his ribs as Josiah’s boot makes contact with his exposed side over and over again. The way Josiah’s voice gets distant and sad when he talks about Turtledove as he rewinds her tape for the millionth time, the pity that drips from his whiskey drunk lips. 

He hoped Josiah would have pity on him and give him human food today. On the fourth day of being starved when he knew Ezra would be desperately hungry, Josiah placed the heavy can with the smiling golden retriever on the front down on the garage floor where he was crumpled up. “If yer hungry enough you can eat this, mutt.” His captor wanted to see just how much he would degrade himself to quiet the pain of hunger rolling in his stomach. He wanted to shake his head and refuse it, but he knew he couldn’t. Ezra worried that he wouldn’t get the offer again so he nodded in resigned agreement. He sat still as Josiah removed the muzzle, relishing how harsh the cool air felt against the dried blood and sweat on his battered face. He couldn’t help but take an instinctive breath in through his mouth as the leather was pulled away from his face, filling his lungs with chilly air despite the stab of pain that shot through his ribs. His body sore and tired, Ezra had to force his jaw open in order to accept the wet, soggy dog food being offered to him. Ezra fought the flood of tears of shame as Josiah airplaned dog food into his painfully dry mouth. “This is what you deserve mutt.” He fought the urge to gag as the smell hit him, it’s potent and sickly sweet and clearly not made to appeal to human senses. Ezra struggled to make his jaw work as he chewed and swallowed, his throat feeling thick and coarse as self pity and disgust worked their way to the surface to eagerly remind him of how miserable his new place in the world truly is. 

After the incident with the eggs he forced himself to do things carefully with the impediment of the haggard duct tape splint on his left hand. He wasn’t sure his body could handle the fallout from another mistake or screw up so Ezra worked his way carefully through the house all night, making sure he didn’t give the devil another reason to punish him. Or something much worse. Finishing his tasks with an hour to spare, he allowed himself to relax a bit and try to ready himself for the day ahead. So he stood at the sink washing the same Pyrex bowl he’d been washing for almost fifteen minutes now. He thought about running while he stared into those pine trees. Ezra knew Josiah wouldn’t have left him there alone if he thought he had the strength to run. It took all his strength just to move around the house with the weight chained to his ankle. There’s no way he’d make it very far in his condition. 

Ezra still had the taste of the chunks of the beef flavored mush and congealed fat in his mouth from the dog food. Josiah had neglected to give him any water before slapping the muzzle right back on and passing out shitfaced in a fold up canvas chair. There was ice cold sink water right there cascading down his hands into the metal sink strainer. Just within his reach but completely cut off to him, the muzzle locked on his face the only barrier. Surely he could find something sharp and cut it off but the thought of Josiah’s reaction tamped that idea right back down. Ezra wasn’t sure how long he’d been crying, his tears pooling at the edge of the leather tight against his cheeks.

“Boo!” A sharp pinch to his bruised ribs shocked him forward, pulling him back to reality. The bowl slipped out of his soapy hands and broke into large pieces in the sink. Ezra was so lost in his exhausted daze he never heard the knocking at the front door. He didn’t hear the front door glass break or the soft footsteps of the tiny blond woman who now had him cornered in the kitchen. “Josie said you were a pretty one.” She cooed as she plucked a shard of glass from the sink and closed the distance between them. “Oh bless yer heart. What are you so sad about, Baby? Aren’t ya excited to meet me?” But he knew Cheyenne Boone all too well already as she starred alongside Josiah in so many of those cursed tapes. Laughing gleefully at Honeybee caught in an insidious looking bear trap, the rusty metal teeth biting deep into her calf. Her eyes sparkled with the same malicious excitement that he saw in the tapes, and Ezra couldn’t decide if he was more afraid of the hunger in her eyes or the glass in her hands as she backed him up to the end of his ankle chain. She gets in close to him, forcing him to expose his neck as she traces the soft flesh just below the leather with the pointed tip of the glass shard.“I don’t usually enjoy ‘em chained up, I like when they try to run. But I think you’ll be fun anyway,” she says with a menacing smile as she presses the sharp tip into his pulse. “I wonder what you’d sound like, bleedin’ out with a muzzle on…” Cheyenne’s gaze moved away from Ezra and a warm smile spread over her face when Josiah got home, his footsteps heavy across the front porch. 

“You bust my glass again, little girl, I’ma bust ya ass.” Josiah says with a tired smile as he kicks the broken window glass from his boots into the boot tray. Cheyenne darts towards him, taking the large man down in a playful hug. Ezra’s white knuckled grip on the counter is all that kept him from falling in a heap where he stood. Not a moment to collect himself before Josiah was on him, unlocking the muzzle and hanging it up in the coat closet. “Go clean up that glass before Songbird steps in it.” Ezra picks up his block as quickly and quietly as he could, stifling a groan as he pushed his body to move. The dustpan and broom were just nearby thankfully as the kitchen was the last room he swept. He sees a truck approach on the dirt path of the driveway and his stomach rolls. Dread pools in the pit of his stomach as he watches Herschel get out of the truck, his boots crunching on the gravel and blonde hair gleaming in the bright afternoon sun. He watches Herschel let the woman out of the passenger side, his sharp eyes noticeable even from so far away. Whenever those piercing blue eyes appeared onscreen they chilled him to the bone. He can’t stop thinking of Herschel’s eyes, devoid of emotion as he tightened an electrical cord around Big Boy’s throat on the tape, his lips curled in a wicked smile as he applied enough pressure to make the man choke and sputter but not enough to cut off his air completely. He can’t stop thinking of the vicious glint in his eyes as he seemed to calculate exactly how far to push before backing off, ensuring that Big Boy would suffer long after the camcorder was stopped. 

Herschel and Songbird walk in moments later through the propped open front door. Josiah gives Songbird a lopsided, distracted smile as Herschel guides her to the side, making sure she avoids stepping in the mess of glass still on the floor. She glances at the cardboard and duct tape that covers the shattered pane of glass, shaking her head a little as Josiah checks to make sure it’s covered completely.Songbird exchanges the flowers in her arms for the pot pie she prepped last night. “Where should I set this cuz?” Herschel claps the older man on the shoulder and gestures to the bouquet of hellebore Songbird picked up along the way to Josiah’s. “Dining room table’s fine.” Songbird swiftly made her way into the kitchen shooing everyone out while she got to work on fixing a home cooked meal for her family. She stopped at the sink, heartbroken at the sight of one of Mama Blevins’ treasured pyrex bowls in pieces. Her face pulls into a tight frown of disappointment, but she quickly looks up and gives Josiah an easy smile when his voice pulls her from her thoughts. “If you need anything holler.” Josiah called to Songbird as he waited for Ezra to finish putting the cleaning supplies away then ushered everyone out towards the garage so Songbird could get started on brunch.

Ezra stares at the concrete floor of the garage, his face pinched in a miserable frown as he fights the urge to panic. He can’t block out the voices surrounding him, the sharp eyes that seem to fall on him with eager intensity, and he’s waiting for one of them to inevitably turn their attention away from the whiskey and onto him. A breeze blows through from the open garage door, deepening the chill already set in Ezra’s bones. The thin cotton crew neck shirt and ragged flannel pajama pants offer little respite from the chill, each gust of winter air that drags across his skin forces Ezra to shiver involuntarily in an attempt to warm himself. “Get that bag of ice outta my trunk and put it in the cooler, mutt.” Josiah’s voice sounded gruffer than usual. Ezra raised himself from his aching knees and struggled to get to his feet, swaying a bit once upright. Cheyenne hooks his ankle with her foot and trips him, giggling as his weight lands on his kneecaps with a sickening crack that silences Herschel for a moment. Ezra clenches his teeth, setting his jaw in a hard line as he wills himself to look ahead, to not give Cheyenne the satisfaction of letting her see the fear that he knows is written all over his face, and he slowly brings himself to his feet and carefully walks around Josiah’s Trans Am. He sets the block of concrete down and opens the passenger door, dropping the ice on top of the block before painstakingly lifting it back up in shaking arms and trudging back to the garage. He feels Herschel’s eyes track him like an animal, watching every move of his battered body as he rips the bag open and pours the ice into the cooler that sits between him and Josiah. He can’t shake their stares, feeling more and more like prey as the trepidation sits heavily in his stomach. Ezra tries to focus on rearranging the cans of Steel Reserve and Budweiser, hoping that if he stays quiet and busy he won’t attract any more attention than he already has. He’s sorely in need of a break after the miserable week he’s had with Josiah, but the nervous knot in the pit of his stomach tells him that he isn’t likely to catch a break with all three of them huddled so closely around him. 

Josiah glances at Cheyenne and lets out an irritated sigh, he gets up and pulls a coat off the wall, rolling his eyes as he drops it over her shoulders to cover her bare arms from the cold. She giggles and bites her lip as she watches Ezra, he tries not to look at her but catches the same predatory glimmer from before and he stiffens. She leans closer to him, her voice too sweet to be genuine. “He’s a pretty one Josie, you could string ‘im up like one a those fancy paintin’s.” She stands and glances around, making a noise of triumph when she finds what she wants. Ezra jumps when she drops a tin bucket full of fish hooks of various sizes on the ground beside him. She grins at Ezra when he looks at her, the horror plain in his eyes and only egging her on. “We could hang ‘im up right out here, fasten ‘im up in the rafters yeah?” 

Her smile is devious and sly, and Ezra knows he won’t be able to avoid this as she fishes for a hook that she likes in the bucket. She holds it up for him to see, tilting her head with mock innocence as she scoots closer and watches his reaction closely. Josiah’s voice cuts through Ezra’s racing thoughts, “You wanna eat, you better stay still and take it boy.” He keens miserably as he forces himself to kneel in the middle of their little half circle, desperately trying to block out the sound of their laughter, the sharp sting of each hook as they thread it through the skin of his shoulders, the searing humiliation of being treated worse than an unwanted animal. 

It isn’t long before one of them produces a length of rope and Cheyenne brandishes the hunting knife she keeps at her hip, somehow Ezra didn’t notice it before but his eyes go wide as she uses the curved tip to cut the rope at the length they want before she hands it off to Herschel. He tosses it over the rafters and the end dangles in front of Ezra, the frayed threads mocking him as they sway gently from side to side, as if the rope itself were teasingly reminding him that he wasn’t free to move even that much. He stares out the open door, longing for the ability to bolt out into the snow and reclaim his freedom. Ezra hardly registers being tugged to his feet as they thread the rope through the hooks and pull it tight, but he hisses with pain as they pull it tight and he’s forced onto his tiptoes to prevent the hooks from ripping clean through the skin of his shoulders. He can see his skin from the corners of his eyes, pulled unnaturally away from his body as the rope is secured somewhere behind him. He tries to lower himself to his heels but the feeling of hot blood oozing from the wounds in his skin as the hooks pull beyond their ability to give stops him and Ezra realizes that he has no choice but to keep himself on his toes unless he wants them to tear clean through his shoulders. He has no idea how much time passes as he jerks and twitches at the pinches to his sides, the tip of Cheyenne’s knife that someone presses threateningly into his side, the tugs at his hair, the sharp nudges at his feet from someone’s boots. He sees Songbird come through the door despite the tears blurring his vision, and the three of them quickly take a step back as she gives Ezra a disapproving glance and then gestures back inside with a smile to the others. “Be right there, darlin’,” Herschel’s voice is soft as he speaks to her. The rope is cut suddenly, catching Ezra off guard. His feet slipped slightly in the puddle of blood beneath him but Josiah steadied him so he could lift the hooks from the gaping loops of flesh. The blood soaking his back is haphazardly wiped off with a dirty towel. Ezra bit his lip when Josiah tugged at the torn skin of his shoulders in a slipshod effort to make the bleeding man more presentable for the supper table. 

Everyone had already settled at the table once the two men finished up in the garage. Hunting trophies adorned the dining room walls; rabbits, fish, even a jackalope. With three deer heads at the center. Songbird knelt beside Herschel in her usual spot on the floor, settling into the hardwood like a pool of silk next to his work-worn leather boots. Josiah reached out a hand to her, guiding her to the empty chair beside Herschel. Her eyes widened with surprise but she quickly gave him a grateful smile and settled into the seat he directed her to, Herschel’s arm extended over the back of her chair possessively. Cheyenne switched to the empty seat beside Songbird before Josiah could sit, sticking her tongue out at him. He laughs and shakes his head at her but doesn’t argue, “You used to hang on your momma the same way,” he jokes with her. He sits in the seat that Cheyenne had moved from and then snaps his fingers at Ezra and points to the floor, “Dirty mutts don’t sit at the table.” Ezra quickly eyes Songbird with jealousy and slinks down to the floor next to Josiah’s feet. 

Songbird prepared a typical Sunday spread; fried okra, mashed red potatoes and a savory gravy, pot pie and the most heavenly smelling cornbread. Before they dig in, Songbird touches Herschel’s arm and gives him a soft look, a question in her eyes. Ezra can’t help but watch how they silently communicate, how Herschel seems to know exactly what she’s thinking because he sighs and clasps his hands in front of him and bows his head. He said a quick blessing, simple and easy but enough to make Songbird squeeze his arm fondly and give him a nod of approval. Cheyenne rolled her eyes and reached for the cornbread, breaking the spell of the moment and initiating the warm conversation that flowed easily between the three of them. Songbird’s smile could power a generator as she looked at her unconventional family joking with each other as they ate the meal she prepared with love.

Ezra kneels miserably as he listens to them chatter. He can’t suppress his shiver as they joke about Cheyenne’s latest Rabbit only lasting a few days - he knows them well enough to know that Rabbit isn’t a small, fluffy animal, that she’s making jokes about hunting a man that she got bored of. He can’t help but notice the blush that creeps over Songbird’s olive skin when Josiah makes a joke about Herschel proposing, and he wonders how long she’s been stuck with them, if he’ll convince himself he loves Josiah one day in order to survive. But his blood runs cold when he hears Josiah ask Cheyenne how much she remembers about Turtledove. He can’t keep his eyes on the floor, he stares at Cheyenne as she gives Josiah a wicked grin and tilts her head at him playfully, making a quip about how he must be feeling extra nostalgic this year. Songbird silences her with a look, an expression that Ezra can’t quite place, but it’s enough to make Cheyenne mutter an apology and offer Josiah condolences. She apologizes for his loss, as if she doesn’t know that Josiah drowned her in the bathtub, as if she doesn’t know that he broke Turtledove and then let her live in this miserable place until she wanted to die so badly that she didn’t fight him holding her beneath the water in the bathtub. As if she didn’t know that Josiah snuffed out her young life after making her watch him hang her husband in the oak tree out front. 

When they finish eating, Songbird quietly clears the table and Ezra watches as she makes a plate and sets it on the counter. He can’t stop his stomach from clenching in hunger, but he knows better than to try to eat anything without Josiah’s permission. He watched with a defeated gaze as Songbird cut into the peach cobbler that she had baked in one of the old pyrex dishes - one that matched the dish he had shattered in the sink - and Cheyenne scooped vanilla ice cream onto each plate. Josiah ate quietly, staring at his plate with a forlorn gaze that Ezra knew would bring him nothing but trouble. But no one paid him any mind as they finished desert and Cheyenne and Herschel cleared the table. 

Josiah glances down at him, irritation plain on his face as Ezra sits quietly at his feet. The look in his eyes is harsh and familiar and Ezra immediately looks to the floor, avoiding his gaze in hopes that Josiah won’t inflict any new pain on him - or worse, hand him over to either of the Boones. Josiah shoves him with the toe of his boot, digging the steel toe into Ezra’s already bruised leg as he leans over and grabs Ezra by the jaw to force him to look up at him. Josiah’s eyes are narrowed in annoyance but he keeps his voice low and even, his calm tone somehow more intimidating than anything else in that moment. “If ya wanna eat tonight,” he growls at Ezra, “ya best get in there and earn ya keep, mutt.” 

Ezra’s eyes go wide as Josiah tears him to shreds with only a look and after a moment he nods. He swallows as he waits for Josiah to let go of his jaw, almost falling to the side when he’s shoved unceremoniously away from his captor. He scrambles to lift his block and hurry into the kitchen, desperate to help Songbird in whatever way he can to spare himself more of the devil’s wrath.


	15. You Let Him Break You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Songbird takes a moment to give Ezra a survival tip.
> 
> THIS IS PART THREE OF A FOUR PART COLLAB WITH SIMPLYGRIMLY AND IS CANON FOR THIS AND [HERSHEY'S KISSES](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28096035/chapters/68838921)!
> 
> CONTENT WARNING: DEAD DOVE, DO NOT EAT! Mentions of creepy/intimate whumper, whumpees interacting, caretaker whumpee, songbird caretaking, descriptions of wounds, bruises, blood
> 
> [RECORD: Dunes by Chequerboard](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BI1aTXudk98&ab_channel=Chequerboard-Topic)

Songbird glanced up as Ezra shuffled into the kitchen, carrying his cement block in a white knuckled grip that betrayed how exhausted and sore he must have been. He stood, struggling to keep hold of the block, looking at her as he waited for her to give him something to do. Despite how quiet Josiah had been, Songbird had heard him tell the battered man to earn his keep, wielding the promise of dinner against him as dangerously as any weapon. 

She sighed and her gaze softened as she thought back to her early days with Herschel, suddenly filled with sympathy for Ezra as she remembered how intensely she had felt the fear and panic before things settled and she found her place in the family. She couldn’t help but notice the way his eyes darted from one corner of the room to the next, obviously not wondering if Josiah would appear but when, unable to predict which moments would bring immeasurable pain and suffering but convinced that they were just around every corner.

Songbird beckoned for him to come help her at the sink, watching him shuffle across the kitchen with a patient smile. She truly looked at him, focused on him for the first time as he set down his block to the side and stood beside her at the sink, staring down at the swirling cloud of soap and bubbles in the fresh dishwater. Songbird stared for a moment, her eyes moving over the flowering bruises that painted his face in bright spatterings of deep purples, melancholy blues, pale greens, and faded yellows, some cut off in perfect lines where the muzzle had ironically protected him from the abuse Josiah had clearly reigned down on him. She surveyed his face slowly, looking for open wounds in the streaks of dried blood and smudges of dirt and grime. Her eyes moved over him the same way they moved over the page of a novel, read the history of his time with Josiah in the tear tracks that broke through the dust that clung to his skin, learned the pain and grief that bloomed in his eyes as he met her gaze in skittish glances, memorized the anxiety that threatened to overtake every slow breath he took as he stood beside her. 

Ezra reached into the water and pulled out a plate, slowly running a sponge over the ceramic in concentrated circles, and Songbird could swear that she could see the pain rolling off of even the slightest twitch of his fingers. Sympathy swelled in her chest and she laid a hand on his forearm, stilling him with the touch of her hand. 

“What -” he watched her with a frown as she quickly went to the dining room table and dragged a chair into the kitchen, positioning it nearby and nodding to him in a silent request to sit. 

Ezra shook his head, “I can’t, I have to help…I need to eat.” 

Songbird sighed again but her smile didn’t falter. She simply reached out and took the plate from his hands, set it gently back in the sink and took Ezra’s hand and gently but firmly pulled him to the chair. His eyes darted to Josiah, as if confirming that he was still sitting with his head in his hands at the table, too lost in his own grief and guilt to pay Ezra and Songbird any mind. She reached up and touched his shoulder, once again silently insisting that he sit. 

Ezra shook his head but sighed in resignation and allowed her to gently push him into the chair, closing his eyes against the onslaught of anxiety that seized his chest and made him question if his heart could still beat when it felt like there was no room in him for anything but suffering. She gave his shoulder a comforting tap, reassuring him and asking him to keep still as she went to the sink and wet a dish towel with warm water. Ezra watched her intently, unable to look away from how comfortably she moved through the kitchen despite the evil that surrounded her on all sides. He wondered how she had lasted so long that even Josiah treated her like a member of the family, wondered what she had done to earn that kind of affection from him and then quickly shoved the thought aside, refusing to allow his mind to wander down that dangerous path. 

She turned back to him and Ezra couldn’t help but see the soft look of sympathy that had settled on her features, and suddenly he felt like there may be someone in the world who understood the hell that he was living through, that maybe there was someone that could ease his suffering, if only the slightest bit, with a moment’s kindness, a moment of compassionate human connection. 

Songbird lifted his chin with gentle hands, her touch soft but insistent. Ezra let her turn his face one way and then the other, letting her guide his movements with no resistance as he lost himself in the kind touch that he hadn’t realized he had been craving. Once she had gotten a satisfactory look at him, assured herself that she didn’t need more than a clean cloth and warm water, Songbird brushed her fingers across his forehead, tenderly pushing his hair out of his face as she offered him a comforting smile. 

The warm cloth felt like heaven against his skin and Ezra closed his eyes as Songbird slowly worked it in small circles over his chafed and battered skin, gently washing away the layers of pain and neglect until she could see his bare skin again. He focused on the soothing brush of her fingertips over his skin, fluttering over the bruises like a hummingbird dancing from one blossom to the next. He relaxed into her quiet confidence, her silence somehow soothing despite knowing that it had been forced upon her just as the cement block had been forced upon him. He thought about how she had adopted her silence, just as he had resigned himself to carrying his chain and block, a condition of their survival and a symbol of their forced loyalty to the family of demons that had surely clawed their way out of Hell itself. 

Ezra fought through the fog of comfort that he had lost himself in, dragged his mind back to the reality of the situation, and looked up at her with stoic curiosity. She gave him a small smile as her eyes worked over his features, the kindness of her touch seemed to wash away the memories of Josiah’s cruelty along with the lines of dirt and blood that still marked his skin in the shape of the muzzle. Despite the hours that had gone by since it was taken off, Ezra knew that Songbird could still see the perfect lines of Josiah’s handiwork in his skin. The freshly tooled leather had chafed and dug at his cheeks and jaw, hugged his mouth wrong in some places and left him raw and sensitive. The sympathetic glimmer in Songbird’s eyes made Ezra wonder if Josiah had made one to fit her at some point, if Herschel had spent weeks tormenting her with homemade contraptions and food that he wouldn’t have fed a stray dog, if she had suffered the same indignities that burned so fresh in his mind. 

“How long have you been here?” 

She sighed but didn’t answer him, still focused on slowly washing his face. 

“Did they do all this shit to you too?” 

Her movements slowed but still she stayed silent, carefully avoiding his eyes as she too softly ran the cloth over his temple and behind his ear. 

Ezra frowned, sure that no one was paying attention to them, unsure of why she didn’t simply answer him. Her hands were too gentle, her touch too light, betraying the fact that she was no longer just cleaning his face. She was taking the time to offer him kindness, a gentle touch, a moment of feeling something good before Josiah’s hands were on him again. 

Hopelessness bubbled in Ezra’s chest, bringing back the tight feeling that he was sure was the beginnings of a heart attack. He dragged in a breath, closing his eyes again as he struggled to ease the fire in his lungs. Ezra clung to Songbird’s touch, desperately kept his focus on the fluttering movements of her fingers as they danced over the evidence of his abuse. He chased the compassion and sympathy in her touch like a ship chased the beam of a lighthouse through a summer storm, forcing his way through his own mind to the safe harbor that her presence provided. 

He sighed, resigned himself to her silence, and whispered one last, futile question into the space between them. “How did you survive this…how do I survive this?” 

Songbird rested her hands on his jaw, her fingertips grazed his cheek bones as she held his face lovingly for a moment. “You learn to break for him,” she whispered almost silently. 

Ezra’s eyes flew open and he stared at her in shock. Her expression hadn’t changed, she still gazed at him with a soft compassion that made Ezra want to break down and weep. He sat, open mouthed, staring at her as the shock turned to a burning desire to connect with the one person that he knew would understand his pain. “What -”

She shushed him softly and shook her head, tilting his face up a bit more to look more directly into his eyes. “You let him love you,” she whispered, “and you let him break you. That’s how you survive here.” 

She carded her fingers through his hair and gave him one last smile before she went back to Josiah, leaving Ezra with a sink full of dishes and torrential downpour of thoughts as she half dragged the drunk devil out the door and down the path into the woods.


	16. Flowers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Songbird and Josiah take a walk.
> 
> THIS IS PART FOUR OF A FOUR PART COLLAB WITH SIMPLYGRIMLY AND IS CANON FOR THIS AND [HERSHEY'S KISSES](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28096035/chapters/68838921)!
> 
> CONTENT WARNINGS: GORE, starvation, humiliation, hand trauma, broken bones, blood, sadistic whumper, intimate whumper, multiple whumpers, alcohol, discussions of past victims, grief for past victims, religious themes, dehumanization, unmarked graves, lady whumpee, whumpee as caretaker
> 
> [RECORD: Pretty Bird by Crooked Still](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=o3f2HjuJDEA&ab_channel=CrookedStill)

Songbird struggles to keep Josiah steady as the pair walk slowly through the dense woods, the basket of flowers in the crook of her elbow were in disarray from when the giant stumbled over a root that had breached the soil. What was normally a twenty minute walk turned into nearly forty with Josiah well past the point of drunk. The warmth of the setting sun is waning, the orange glow barely flickered through the thick trees. A brisk wind rushes past the pair making them huddle closer together as they walk deeper into the woods.

“Just a bit further, Tweetybird,” Josiah’s tone is apologetic as he leans on the petite woman for balance, tucking her into his leather jacket when he feels her shiver against him from the sudden temperature drop. The alcohol in his blood helps warm her as it radiates from his body like the hot coils of a heater that won’t turn off.

They reach the small clearing in the middle of the trees and stop at the sight of a bright pink patch of flowers surrounded by melting snow. Josiah feels the gentle push of Songbird’s tiny hand at his lower back, urging him forward. He shrugs off his jacket and drapes it around her shoulders, the chill is persistent and penetrating, pushing below the skin to settle on top of the nerves. The pink scar he gave her peaks out above the neckline of her shirt, a dust of freckles surround it. It’s a constant reminder of his past cruelty towards her, softened over time by her gentleness towards him. He gathers the black hellbore flowers from the basket, fixes his disheveled shirt and sets off to the final resting place of Turtledove. Buried beside her husband in deep woods, marked only by the lonely patch of fireweed planted there by Songbird on their last visit.

Songbird stays by the treeline at first, wanting to give Josiah the privacy he needs as he grieves for his beloved Turtledove. She was overjoyed when Josiah began to bring her along on this yearly trek into the woods, trusting her enough to share his grief with her. Slowly, Josiah brought her close enough to show her a side of himself even the Boones rarely saw. A man fighting a losing battle for his soul with the devil inside of him.

Josiah motions for Songbird to come closer with a wave, his eyes never leaving the grave in front of him. Her footsteps are so light she almost floats over to him, taking her place just behind him as he lowers himself to his knees and places the flowers on the grave. Holding there a moment as if he could touch her again. “I always knew you were an angel, but you didn’t deserve to get to your wings yet,” Josiah says as he looks to the sky, not the unmarked grave he put her in nearly 20 years earlier. The day he condemned what was left of his soul, the day he knew he would spend his eternal life in the flames of Hell. 

Songbird begins to sing, another tradition started last visit and one that he was grateful for now. Josiah closes his eyes and listens to her song, taking every word in that he can of hers before they are locked away again. The melody carries through the trees, the moment settling over them like the haze of sunshine penetrating the canopy. Josiah can’t help but notice the unusual silence in the woods around them, like even the wildlife were showing reverence and respect for the solemn prayer that her voice held. 

_Fly away little pretty bird_

_Fly, fly away_

_Fly away little pretty bird_

_And pretty you’ll always stay_

_I see in your eyes a promise_

_Your own tender love you’ll bring_

_But fly away little pretty bird_

_Cold runneth the spring_

_Love’s own tender flames warm this meeting_

_And love’s tender song you sing_

_But fly away little pretty bird_

_And pretty you’ll always sing_

_I cannot make you no promise_

_Love is such a delicate thing_

_Fly away little pretty bird_

_For he’d only clip your wings_

_Fly away little pretty bird_

_Fly, fly away_

_Fly away little pretty bird_

_And pretty you’ll always stay_

_Fly far beyond the dark mountain_

_To where you’ll be free evermore_

_Fly away little pretty bird_

_Where the cold winter winds don’t blow_

“Thank you, Tweetybird,” he says as he stands and turns to her, his weary, bloodshot eyes brimming with tears. She reaches into the inner pocket of his jacket still around her shoulders and pulls out his metal flask, taking a swig herself before handing it to him, taking the deep burn of the liquor like a champ. “Well damn girl,” Josiah says, sounding surprised then letting out a lighthearted chuckle from deep in his belly. “Didn’t know you had it in ya.” He takes a swig and pours one over her grave, stopping for a last look until next year’s visit. “Let’s head back yonder. Gonna be dark soon,” Josiah yawns and tucks Songbird back under his arm. Leaving behind his greatest regret until he makes the trek again next year.

"Where the hell is it?” Herschel mumbles to himself as he flips through his older cousin’s vinyls. Unlike Herschel’s plastic crates stuffed full of records, Josiah keeps each record carefully preserved in a plastic dust cover. Flipping and flipping through the immense collection Josiah had curated over the course of a lifetime was making Herschel break into a sweat as he squatted down next to it. Some were from Josiah’s Mama. Some were given to him as gifts over the years. A few precious records were from Papaw Blevin’s prized collection. Most had come from the swap meets and thrift stores he frequented regularly.

_Patsy. Loretta. Hank. Dolly. Charlie Pride._

“Ah! Found it!” Elvis: Promised Land. Herschel slides the record from the sleeve and places it on the turntable. Careful not to scratch or scuff Papaw’s favorite vinyl that he and Josiah have shed blood over more than once. The only possession of Papaw Blevins that either man ever cared about. Making sure it was safe before letting the rest of his possessions burn with the miserable house they were stored in. 

Ezra groans from across the room where Cheyenne has had him pinned face down and straddling him on the carpet for the last half hour. Too weak to struggle against her grip, she keeps him pinned with ease. Not that he would move otherwise with Herschel just a few feet away. His sinister presence is enough to keep Ezra in line, keep him too scared to make any wrong moves. Not that Cheyenne is any better. He’s witnessed her brutally often enough on the tapes to know that she’s perfectly capable of outdoing the boys in terror without question. Her fingertips dance across the new bruises and older mottled ones. Pressing down hard on the nastier looking ones she sees and savoring Ezra’s pained cries of agony as she shifts her weight around on top of him, putting pressure on his bruised ribs.

“Josie must really like ya if ya ain’t got any marks on ya too bad yet.” She cooed and pondered what he’d look like with a few more deep cuts here and there. She eyes the loose loops of flesh on his shoulders where the hooks were pushed through and stretched painfully as he hung from them. 

_Lord Almighty I feel my temperature rising…_

Elvis blares through the tall record player speakers, drowning out all of Ezra’s horse screams while Cheyenne tugs on the abused hanging flesh. Making sure to dig her fingers nice and deep into the open wounds. Satisfied with his song choice, Herschel steps over the pair on his way back to the captain’s chair. Picking up his whiskey from the coffee table and settling for the fun.

The white hot pain is what makes Ezra’s voice finally break, turning his screams into a silent wail. He can hear the blonde maniac above him giggle, laughing at his inaudible cries. 

“Oh quit yer belly achin’. It ain’t that bad.” 

He makes a feeble attempt to push himself up in an effort to get her off but she easily overpowers him. Too weak from starvation and relentless beatings, he’s easily pushed back down and pinned to the carpet by his wrists. 

“Looks like the poor puppy made Josie mad.” Cheyenne grabs his wrist, turning it to look at the shitty duct tape split that was caked with grime and was well past needing to be changed out. Ezra sees them exchange a look over his shoulder, both of the siblings looking down at him in damn near unison. She returns his wrist back to the carpet, giving Herschel easy access.

“Think Josiah will get cross if he can’t use both hands now?” That crooked wolfish grin of his chills Ezra to the bone.

“Guess we’ll have to see.” Cheyenne says encouragingly. 

Ezra shakes his head furiously until it’s yanked back and he’s forced to watch. Herschel leans back in his chair with his whiskey, positioning the heel of his boots on both of Ezra’s hands. Slowly he begins to grind them into the carpet, putting the most pressure on his previously injured hand. The sickening crunch of bones is what sends Ezra over the edge, making him pass out entirely. Just fading into the blissful dark. He hears a disappointed Cheyenne in his ear, her complaints about his pain tolerance fading as he goes.

“You gettin’ blood all over my carpet again little girl?” Josiah’s words come out a bit slurred.

“Who has carpet in a basement anyway?” Cheyenne smiles as she wipes her bloody fingers on the back of Ezra’s ruined cotton shirt.

The added presence in the basement is what wakes Ezra back up. He sees Josiah at the bottom of the stairs through barely cracked eyelids, Songbird is too not far behind him shrugging her jacket off and putting it on the arm of Herschel’s seat. Relief washes over Ezra when the duo’s attention shifts to the pair, leaving him alone on the floor in a flash. 

“I see you got your grubby hands on my stuff again.” Josiah lumbers over to the record player and carefully removes the Elvis vinyl. Placing it back in it’s sleeve like it’s made of paper thin glass. Songbird slips upstairs while the cousins continue their bickering. 

Moments later everyone emerges from the basement into the living room, Ezra trailing behind them at his own pace as he tries to collect himself before Josiah demands something from him again. Whether it’ll be pain or pleasure is a coin toss. 

When he finally reaches the kitchen he kneels in the corner out of the way, just hoping to go unnoticed for a moment while he tries not to bleed on the floor. 

Songbird gives Herschel a signal to wait for her while he and Cheyenne step out on the front porch to enjoy the chilly night air after saying their goodbyes to Josiah. The open screen door sends a chill straight to Ezra, clad only in the thin shirt and pants he was given, the blood soaked clothes make him shiver dreadfully.

Songbird leads Josiah into the dining room and brings him to the steaming plate she set there, a tall glass of sweet tea beside it. She looks over her shoulder towards the kitchen where Ezra is kneeling and trying to keep himself upright. She turns back to Josiah imploringly. Feed the poor boy.

“I’ll let him eat Tweetybird. I promise.” She stands up on her tiptoes and he meets her halfway, giving him a peck on the cheek before heading out the door where Herschel was waiting patiently for her. Cheyenne’s tail lights are already halfway down the driveway. A final wave goodbye and the house is finally quiet. 

“Come here Baby.” Josiah lets out a whistle that startles Ezra out of his fog in the kitchen. He tries to whine but nothing comes out but a sad whistle. By the time he stands, his face is red with exertion but he manages it and crosses into the dining room where Josiah is waiting by the dining room table. 

_How the hell is he still conscious, let alone standing upright?_

Josiah pulls out the chair for him and gestures for him to sit, right where Songbird laid dinner out for him. The table is set for one. Josiah takes the seat beside him, giving Ezra’s leg a squeeze before giving him the go ahead to dig in. The Boone’s ensured that eating with silverware would be an impossible task. Ezra tries to get his less mangled fingers to curl around the fork but he fumbles and it clatters on the plate shattering the silence between the two men.

He quickly looks up at Josiah, mouthing sorry sorry sorry in a panic, sure that punishment was coming. Just like many innocuous infractions had previously. Not moving fast enough. Not getting his breakfast how he likes. Any slight protest or complaint no matter how small would mean some kind of discipline.

“Here, let me.” Josiah puts some green beans on the fork and airplanes it in. Ezra feels like he’s reliving that first morning of his new terrifying reality here. 

The beans were cooked in bacon grease and he’d never been so happy to eat green beans in his entire life. There are probably the best he’s ever had. Eagerly he waits for another bite. Hopefully it’s the cornbread next. 

“Not so fast. We can’t have you gettin’ sick now.” Josiah takes two fingers and gathers a small fluffy pile of mashed potatoes and gravy on them. 

Ezra doesn’t fight it. His stomach is empty and the food looks so divine. Despite the humiliating delivery method, he opens his mouth without hesitation and sucks the potatoes off of the fingers of the man who has made him into nothing more than an object to use at his leisure. Something to discard at will.

Ezra locks whatever shame he has left in a hidden compartment deep inside himself for now. Songbird’s whispered words from earlier stick in his mind as he relishes the taste of actual human food. 

_‘You let him love you and you let him break you.’_

He will play the part of the man’s plaything, companion, punching bag and lover as long as he has to. Long enough to get out. Long enough to survive.

“I’m sorry for getting so angry, Baby.” Josiah says quietly as he strokes Ezra’s chin after feeding him a big bite of the pot pie. 

Ezra gets in only a few more bites in before Josiah takes it away, promising him a bowl of hot grits in the morning. “Remember now, you have to take it slow.” 

Josiah takes him out to the garage again that night but doesn’t hurt him, just carefully re splints his hand and then carries him upstairs to their bed.


	17. Letting Go While Holding On

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Josiah makes Ezra feel good.
> 
> **Content Warnings: EXPLICIT Noncon, dubcon, intimate whumper, humiliation, oral sex, mention of a dead animal, hunting mention, brief blood mention, forced pleasure, forced orgasm, forced to beg, chained to the bed**
> 
> [RECORD: Letting Go While Holding On by Nine Inch Nails](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dp58R7BEhrw&ab_channel=NineInchNails)

“How can you expect me to hold back when you look like that?” Josiah growled while he buried himself to the hilt inside his restrained toy. The warm dim light of the small bedside lamp in the room made Ezra look sent from Heaven.

“Please-” Ezra stared wide eyed at the man above him, searching his face for any kind of mercy. “Please slow down.”

The larger man stared down at him with an unsettling look of hunger that threatened to swallow him whole. Ezra turned his head, he needed to find something on the wall to focus on until it was over. A large framed collage of family photos took up the most space amongst the framed artwork and photographs. There were dozens of family snapshots that seemed almost downright normal. The cousins as teenagers, huddled together like close siblings in front of the sign at Lookout Mountain. Cheyenne and a tall, elderly man wearing suspenders and holding a Bible. Josiah and Herschel holding the antlers of a giant dead buck between them, a single bullet hole square in the middle of it’s forehead. Ezra cringed, he was never into hunting like most of his peers. He imagined a person in place of that buck and shuddered. 

Underneath the collage hung a painting of a lush green mountain landscape with a river winding through the trees. The sky was cloudy with a sun that poked its way through the clouds. Ezra imagined himself running through that intangible forest, towards that train he heard so often passing in the distance. Bare feet bloody and caked in damp soil. Not stopping no matter how much it hurt. No matter how much his chest burned.

Ezra was pulled back to the present when he felt Josiah’s calloused fingers grasp his half hard cock, the sudden sensation made him cry out in surprise. There was no escape from those rough hands that always seemed to be on him, exploring him. Finding the buttons to push that completely unraveled Ezra whenever he wanted to watch the boy squirm. 

“Don’t worry, Baby. I’ll make ya feel real good.” Ezra’s breath quickened as a sob threatened to breach the dam, he turned his head away again towards the wall. He rested his cheek against his arm, chained above him to the bars of the metal headboard.

“Please Josiah…” Ezra closed his eyes as he trailed off. Unsure of what he was even begging for, his captor’s unusually pleasant touch was a vacation from the almost daily violence of his present life in this isolated house. The giant on top of him grazed his teeth against Ezra’s bared throat, nipping at his flesh hard enough to leave angry red marks behind. He pushed down the shame that ate at him every time they went through this song and dance, and met Josiah’s gaze. “Make me feel good." 

“Please,” Ezra’s voice was hardly a whisper. 

Josiah pounced, kissing him deeply as he rubbed his thumb over the tip of Ezra’s dripping cock. Mercifully he slowed his grinding pace, choosing instead to focus on the wonderful reaction he was teasing out of his sweet boy. In a flash Josiah pulled out of him and scooted down to get eye level with Ezra’s painfully hard cock.

Hands wrapped around around his thighs as Josiah settled between them, forcing his legs wider apart. Ezra didn’t fight it. Just watched as his abductor licked his shaft, stopping to laugh at the look of sheer need on the boy’s face. His eyes silently begged through glistening unshed tears for a release.

“When you feel yerself gettin’ close, I want you to beg me to fuck you,” Josiah said before he brushed the head of Ezra’s cock with his lips. “Can you do that for me, Baby?” Ezra nodded, the unshed tears slowly rolled down his flushed cheeks. 

It wouldn’t take long once Josiah had his mouth on him. The scratchy stubble of his growing beard brushed against Ezra’s inner thighs as he worked, he smiled to himself when he heard the boy trying to hold back the moans he was coaxing from him. Ezra pushed his hips up until Josiah felt him in the back of his throat, he could feel his body starting to unravel and he would have to say those dreadful words. The ones that made his stomach feel cold.

“Fuck me.” He hoped it would be enough tonight but he knew it wouldn’t. It never was. He always had to play his game. The man loved to see Ezra degrade himself for pleasure.

“Nah, Baby. You can do better than that,” Josiah said while dragging the head across his lips. 

“I need you to fuck me Josiah,” Ezra sobbed into his arm. “Please fuck me. Please.” His legs started to tremble and he got closer to his edge, his body tensing under the crushing weight of the pleasure that Josiah was teasing from him. 

Josiah smiles at Ezra’s needy whine as he pulls away and hovers over him. He enjoys the look of desperation on his face as his release slips through his fingers and he’s once again at Josiah’s mercy. 

He devours the sound, covering Ezra’s mouth in a greedy kiss as he leans over him. Josiah lines himself up and presses deep inside of him, wrapping his calloused hand around Ezra to bring him back to that edge. 

Ezra sobs again, chest heaving in a mixture of desperation and humiliation, the forced pleasure heightening his emotions. Josiah expertly moved his hand over Ezra’s length, quickly forcing him to orgasm, ripping the last bit of bliss from his soul. 

“Let it all out, Baby. That’s it,” Josiah’s voice rumbled as he finished inside Ezra who was trying to jerk away from the relentless strokes of his sensitive cock. “Open your eyes and look at me, Baby,” Josiah said as he took the crying man’s chin and gently moved his face away from his arm. Blue eyes forced themselves open, bloodshot and brimming with tears. 

“There’s my sweet boy,” Josiah purred into his forehead as he planted a kiss there.

Ezra felt his arms being unlocked from the metal frame, his weary body pulled into the crushing embrace of his captor. Fingertips traced the raised whip marks filling in empty space next to older ones on the smaller man’s back, his head resting against the chest of the man who put them there.


	18. Bury Me Beneath The Weeping Willow Tree

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ezra snaps.
> 
> **cw: MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH, death, murder, forced to watch a snuff film, aftermath of torture, blood, captivity, multiple whumpers, sadistic whumper, guns, gun death, thoughts of death**
> 
> [RECORD: Bury Me Beneath The Willow by Dolly Parton, Linda Ronstadt and Emmylou Harris](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Fua6PSz4-kY&ab_channel=DollyParton)

He was told to sit still and watch.

He’d been left unrestrained in the wooden chair. Josiah had a real talent for keeping him still with just a glance. Every look had violence in it. Even the seemingly non threatening ones.

Ezra steels himself as the final part of the tape begins. Not allowed to cover his eyes or look away, somehow Josiah would know. Even though he isn’t in the garage he still always knows.

The camera is pointing at the back corner of the yard, just before the tree line. At a freshly dug hole. Cheyenne comes into the frame briefly. Her blond curls obscure the lens as she adjusts the camera and makes it steady. 

A minute passes before Herschel hulks into the frame, dragging Big Boy behind him by the legs. He’s as limp as a ragdoll. Josiah spits on Big Boy, muttering a curse under his breath and wiping blood from his eyebrow as he follows behind. Cheyenne and Darlin’ aren’t too far behind them. She’s pulling the small man by the arms. There’s a colossal amount of blood coming from his stomach, his clothes are dark and wet with blood. Which made him look an even ghastlier shade of pale.

Darlin’ is praying in spanish. His voice is weak and barely audible but Ezra can hear and understand every word. Cheyenne says nothing. Just smiles a terrifying smile down at him as she dumps him next to Big Boy by the open grave. Darlin’ is so lost in his pain he can barely think to beg. Just continues to pray to whoever is watching this from above. His prayers are the only sound. Lost on the three devil’s surrounding them. 

Big Boy stirs and reaches for Darlin’. One last attempt to protect his friend, Ezra thinks. He’d done so in many other tapes. Taking the pain to spare others.

They’re both propped up on their knees at the edge of the hole. Darlin’ begins to cry softly, his fingers weakly claw at Big Boy’s shirt. 

Josiah steps between the Boones, taking the small gun from this waistband and firing a shot into the back of Big Boy’s head. The boom makes the crows scatter from the pines behind them, vacating the branches they were perched on as they watched the show unfold. Big Boy’s body tumbles forward into the hole.

Herschel doesn’t even pretend to look human. Stone faced at the pitiful sight of the remaining man in front of him. Cheyenne looks like she’s next in line to tell Santa what she wants him to bring her for Christmas, positively giddy watching these men take their final breaths.

Darlin’ is quiet at this point, his head is lolling forward on his chest. Blood is dripping from his mouth. Josiah aims again and fires one last time, sending Darlin’ down to join his companion in death. 

While the boys pick up shovels, Cheyenne hops back over to the camera. She gets behind it and takes it over to the grave. One final look at the men they made suffer so intensely for so long. Darlin’ and Big Boy in a bloody heap together, slowly getting covered by shovels of soil.

“Sweet dreams.” Cheyenne says before the video stops completely.

Ezra stands up fast. The chair behind him tips back and falls. He has no idea where Josiah is and he doesn’t care.

Something inside him breaks, tells him it’s enough. No one else should see this tape. Not him. Not Josiah. Not the Boones. Or whoever the next victim Josiah decides to bring home after he’s dead and gone. 

Ezra pushes eject on the VCR, snatching the tape and throwing it forcefully against the concrete. When it doesn’t do much damage he picks up his cement block and smashes the ungodly VHS to pieces. The rolls of shiny tape roll around his feet in ribbons as he screams loud from a place deep inside himself he’s kept shut until this moment.

Whatever his punishment is will be worth it to never have sit and to watch those poor souls die again.


	19. Fire in the Blood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The fallout from the destruction of the VHS.
> 
> **content warning: animal attack, bug bites, wounds, insect attack, panic, muzzled, restrained, torture, sadistic punishment, whipping mention, forced to strip, implied noncon, sadistic whumper, begging, human furniture, choking, water torture, needle mention, captivity, thoughts of death**

It wasn’t so bad. 

Being a footstool. He could be a footstool.

As long as he was being allowed to lay there with his eyes closed, he could be Josiah’s footstool. Even the occasional pressure from the heel of the boot pressing into his stomach wasn’t so bad. At least it wasn’t his back, still tender from the fallout of the murder tape destruction. Josiah made him strip bucknaked and took him out back, tied him up to a tree and took a switch to him. Made sure to find a switch that was nice and thorny too. He’d gladly take another ten strikes again if it meant not having horsefly bites to worsen the sting of the open wounds on his back and thighs.

So it wasn’t so bad being at the man’s feet in the cool basement on this hot summer’s day while they watched Bonanza reruns on the old television stacked on top of an even older television in the corner. Felt too hot out to do anything. The air conditioning is working overtime, whenever it kicks back on the cold air blows from the ceiling vent above him blissfully. Maybe it would be a lazy day and he could get some real rest.

“Stay right there Baby. Songbird left me a little snack in the ‘frigerator.” The declaration makes Ezra’s stomach churn with hunger that he forces himself to ignore. Josiah had decided that he needed to atone for his sin for a while, slapping the muzzle right back on him after the beating outside. Ezra feels a breeze blow over him as Josiah gets up from the chair and sets out up the stairs. He closes his eyes and nods towards the direction of Josiah’s trailing voice. 

Ezra dozes off for a few minutes. He wakes to the sensation of cool liquid dripping onto his bare chest. Something that smells sweet. He opens his eyes to see Josiah leaning above him eating a big slice of juicy looking honeydew, the liquid drips from his chin onto Ezra’s face every time he takes a big bite.

“This really hits the spot. Songbird’s honeydew is the sweetest you’ll find. I’m lucky she always makes sure to bring some over.” He takes another big bite, letting the juice drip from his chin freely. It pools in the dip of his sternum. “Look at me makin’ a big ol mess in this chair,” Josiah says while pressing his boot down to keep him pinned to the floor and spreading the juice all over Ezra’s neck and torso, giving Ezra a wink before continuing on.

“Better ‘en any of that packaged bullshit you get at the store. You always end up throwing it in the trash. Tastes like nothing. Ain’t sweet at all.”

Ezra can almost taste the cool melon on his lips as he watches Josiah messily eat above him. Slurping the last of the juice from the rind before grabbing another slice from the tupperware. Ezra swallows back the saliva pooled in his mouth, trapped behind the tight brown leather muzzle. It’s key dangles above his head from the chain hanging from Josiah’s unbuttoned shirt.

“You know honeydew attracts fire ants? Can’t even eat it outside in the summertime.” Ezra was in and out of dozing off again, barely hearing Josiah’s words as they floated above him. 

Before Ezra could react, he’s turned over on his stomach. His arms are pulled behind him. Josiah twists and ties him up with the efficiency of someone who had done this hundreds of times. Ezra is trussed up like a ham on Christmas morning.

Josiah is able to carry him up the stairs and into the backyard with minimal effort, dumping him on the ground facing the porch. Right next to an angry looking pile of fire ants, climbing up and down their red dirt pile in a flurry of movement.

Josiah smiles and says “They’re angry little fuckers. I always go out of my way to avoid them. You aren’t payin’ enough attention and bam they’re all in your boots going up your legs. You might wanna be careful layin’ so close to that. 

Ezra’s eyes go wide in horror at the realization of what’s about to happen to him. Josiah kicks the top of the dirt, sending the angry swarm scattering in all directions in the grass. The dirt sprays over him, coating his exposed flesh with ants. He can feel them on his face, biting his cheeks and ears Ezra shakes his head frantically in a desperate attempt to get them off, all the while screaming and pleading behind the muzzle. 

_I can’t handle much more of this!_

Josiah walks back over to him, shoving him closer to the ant hill with his boot right in the heart of the flurry of fire then stepping back a few feet to watch. Ezra pushes past the wall of pain flaming on his skin and keeps trying to shake off the hundreds of fire ants engulfing his nearly nude body. They were in his hair, on the tops of his cheeks, biting in between his toes. The dried up juice smeared all over him brought the swarm to him like a sweet lure. There’s nothing he can do to get away hogtied like this.

“You know how I love you squirming like that. I just might have to pull up a chair.”

Ezra tries again to shake them off, managing to roll on his side. A wave of nausea hits him as his struggles against the impossibly tight hogtie. The hundreds and hundreds of bites are creating a flush of heat across his body. Not to mention the brutal sun beating down on him. 

Josiah kicks him back onto his stomach. Ezra wails behind the muzzle on the hard impact to his ribs. “You know when I got swarmed as a young’n they had to give me a shot with the biggest damn needle I’ve ever seen. Good thing though because that poison in their bite could kill ya.” 

Ezra can’t focus on a word the man is saying. His body is on fire and he thinks he’s going to die. Dying might be preferable to this. 

Josiah yanks him out of the grass, using the rope around his bundled up limbs as a handle and places him on the porch. He blasts the trembling man with the hose until every ant is washed away, he lingered with it on Ezra’s face for a few moments too long. Ezra can hardly breathe as it is and nearly passes out until Josiah removes the muzzle from his face, allowing him to take more substantial breaths. Josiah unties the ropes and pulls Ezra to his knees, he crouches down in front of him and grabs his face to force eye contact.

“Ya better learn to respect me and respect this house, ya hear me? You know that I can do much, much worse to you Baby. So don’t you won’t pull somethin’ like that again will ya?” Ezra shakes his head, his eyes still locked in fear with the green eyed demon who’s grasp he can’t escape.

Later that evening Ezra spends hours of humiliating begging and negotiating on his ant bitten hands and knees, promising to be good, to do whatever Josiah wants him to. He’ll do it happily. Just please help me. He screams inside himself. After promising Josiah everything he can possibly give, he convinces his tormentor to rub calamine lotion on his body. Ezra breaks down when he finally agrees. Josiah is more than happy to oblige knowing the price Ezra will have to pay for it.


	20. Just Call Me Lonesome

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Josiah tries to make Ezra feel more at home.
> 
> THIS IS A COLLAB WITH SIMPLYGRIMLY!
> 
> **content warnings: brief noncon touch, blood, wounds, captivity, shackles, mentions of branding, brief mention of past victims torture, brief mention of noncon/dubcon, intimate whumper, smoking, alcohol, whumper attempting kindness, mention of kidnapping**

Josiah doesn’t like it when Ezra has more than two cups of coffee before noon. It’s only 10am and he’s already on his third. Josiah says it makes him ‘as jumpy as a rabid ‘coon in the trash’. They had been up late the night before. Ezra couldn’t stand the sight of the bites and marks in the bathroom mirror while he brushed his teeth, he turned his back to avoid looking. They layered over the old ones and made him look like a painting with too wide brush strokes. 

It made him wonder if he’d be alive long enough to be branded like some of the others were. The early brands were crude and off center, ripe for infection. By the time Josiah had Darlin’ his skills had obviously improved, the brand on the small man’s thigh was perfect. A clean looking J.B on his inner thigh. Darlin’s screams when the hot iron pressed against his flesh lived rent free inside Ezra’s head after seeing the moment replayed so many times. The thought of being marked as property makes him shudder.

He stands at the front windows gripping his coffee with both hands and watches Josiah’s truck drive down the dirt path to the house, alternating between blowing on it and taking frantic sips of the steaming cup. Trying to hurriedly finish before the giant walks through the door and sees. He gulps the last of the scalding liquid down, setting the empty mug down on top of his block he races to the kitchen. Quickly washing and drying the cup, placing it exactly where he left it on the drying rack before Josiah had gone out that morning.

When Josiah doesn’t immediately come into the house, Ezra goes outside to meet him. Anticipating Josiah’s need for him, too aware of the consequences of having to be asked. He’s pulled the truck into the grass by the large and unruly overgrown bush by the shed. The bed is full of bags of soil and a blue tarp covering something he can’t make out tucked in the corner. Josiah had already unloaded the haul by the time Ezra shuffled to the tailgate. There were bags of soil and fertilizer, about a dozen medium sized pots of blue irises and deep violet coneflowers. 

“You had a lot of flowers back home. Thought maybe we could clear these weeds, you and me.” Josiah points to the unkempt mess of bush next to the tin shed. He’s got a look on his face of sincere hopefulness that he’d done good, almost like a child delivering an attempt at breakfast to his half awake mother. 

“Yeah. I’d really like that,” Ezra looks up at him and smiles, noticing the little speckle of brown in his right eye for the first time. The sun hitting it just right, illuminating his bright green eyes.

“Alright then. Let’s grab somethin’ to eat first then we can get started,” Josiah claps Ezra on the shoulder before they make their way up the small set of stairs to the front porch. “Oh wait! Almost forgot something.” He jogs back over to the old black Chevy truck and retrieves something from the passenger seat. 

It is an air plant in a bright blue ceramic pot with no soil. “Got you this special. You could put it in the kitchen. Should be enough light in there. Miss Mary told me she’d keep an eye out for any nice small ones that are pretty.”

This all felt almost normal. For a moment Ezra forgot where he was, who Josiah was. Like he had a real loving partner who decided to surprise him with a thoughtful gift. Ezra felt a twinge of fleeting happiness in his chest and for a moment it made him forget that this was anything but normal. 

“I don’t know what to say,” Ezra feels like he could cry but he stuffs it down, he doesn’t want to ruin the calm mood that Josiah woke up in, and he doesn’t want to explain that odd mix of fear, sadness, and resentful gratitude. “I love it, Josiah. Thank you.”

The pair head inside for lunch before tackling the gardening project, Ezra fixes them tuna melts with a side of potato salad he found in Josiah’s mother’s cookbook that was easy for him to whip up quickly. He stares at the wiry leaved plant on the windowsill as he washes up the last of the lunch dishes and laughs to himself. I bet Josiah has no idea what these symbolize. 

Freedom. 

Surely the irony was lost on the giant who looked so genuinely delighted to be giving him a present. 

It feels nice to not be tethered to the block for once, Josiah insisted on unlocking it and leaving it behind on the porch so it doesn’t hinder him while they work. The air feels cool and brisk against his chafed skin, the breeze is a shock to his nerves despite the warmth of the summer sun. With the metal shackle gone, Ezra can see where his ankle has been rubbed raw, where the skin has opened and bled, where it has healed over and opened again, leaving his once unmarred skin covered in calluses and stained with dull spots of dried blood.

It takes them a while to clear the unruly bush, setting the uprooted mess of green on top of the burn pile along with other fallen branches and clippings Josiah had been collecting throughout the week. By the end of the hardest leg of work, Ezra is exhausted. His body is already aching and they’ve barely started. The constant cycle of his body being broken and slowly putting itself back together keeps his energy level low, makes even mundane chores feel like scaling the side of the mountain. 

After they dig up a bit of the old soil and replace it with the new, Ezra gets to work planting the blue irises first. They were his favorite of the two Josiah picked out. He pulls the first plant out of it’s black plastic pot and sets it in the dug out hole in front of him. Josiah’s taking a smoke break by the shed, watching Ezra work the roots into the soil intently. 

Ezra moves on to digging out the next hole with his hand trowel when sharp stinging pain shoots through his bad hand. It just never healed right after Herschel stepped on it during their first meeting all those months ago, making the damage too severe to come back from. He drops the tool into the dirt when his hand decides to painfully cramp up.

“Fuck!” He startles himself with his shout but the pain is too much, too loud for him to care. He quickly shuts his eyes and waits for the wave of sensation to pass, trying to ignore the way his fingers go stiff and the joints lock up as his nerves light up in agonizing fireworks of pain. Josiah wraps his arms around his chest and helps him up from the grass, holding him for a moment while Ezra finds his footing.

“Why don’t you go rest and take it easy Baby? I can finish up here,” Josiah says while brushing the dirt and grass from Ezra’s jeans, his hands coming too close to Ezra’s groin and momentarily helping him forget the pain that’s slowly crawling up his arm.

“Are you sure? Maybe if I just rest for a minute..” The pain doesn’t let up and he knows he can’t continue but he finds himself not wanting to disappoint Josiah who’d been so excited for them to finish the project together. There was no telling how that disappointment would manifest; if it would reappear in Josiah’s fists in his drunken stupor, or in rough, work worn hands touching him in all the right places as he seeks out a mimicry of intimacy in the dark.

“Go on. I’ve got this.”

Ezra is in too much pain to argue so he heads in and lays down on the couch for a bit, dozing off for longer than he planned to. The house is quiet and the sunlight has dimmed into the evening. He finds Josiah on the rocking chair out front, admiring the new flora and chain smoking another pack of Reds.

“You looked so cute sleeping, I didn’t want to wake ya.” He takes one of the glasses of sweet tea from Ezra and pats the seat of the chair next to him. 

“Thank you for letting me sleep. I’m sorry I wasn’t more helpful,” Ezra hopes his good mood hadn’t soured in the few hours he’d been allowed to rest. “The flowers look wonderful.”

“I did it for you Baby. I want to make it feel like home for you here. This is yer home too you know.” Josiah doesn’t miss the look of melancholy that passes over Ezra’s face. “Mama used to say the best you can hope for out of life is to find someone to sit on the porch and grow old with. Just a couple of old folks in rocking chairs, living out the rest of their days together.”

“It’s lonely out here. I can see why she’d want that.” Emotions flicker over his face despite his attempt to keep his expression stoic and Josiah is watching too closely to miss the hint of sadness that colors his features. The thought of growing old on the side of this mountain, with only Josiah and his unpredictable mood swings to keep him company is depressing, and Ezra feels the dread settle low in his stomach.

“Are you lonely Baby?” Ezra is surprised to see something akin to concern flicker in the man’s wicked green eyes, he hadn’t known that the devilish giant of a man was capable of looking at him with anything but predatory hunger and booze-fueled rage.

Ezra hesitates, unsure what response will keep him out of the doghouse with his captor. He knows that silence isn’t an option, Josiah hasn’t started his nightly alcohol binge and he’s still too aware for Ezra to simply keep his mouth shut and wait for him to distract himself. He races through the options in his mind, tries to predict the repercussions of each confession, and prays that he doesn’t earn himself another punishment in front of that shitty tv in the basement with his response.

“These woods just make me feel real lonely is all. It’s so quiet out here.” As if to prove his point, a bird whistles a short tune from the dense trees and their world falls back into the peaceful silence of the forest. Ezra shifts uncomfortably in his seat as Josiah studies his face, only the sound of a gentle summer breeze skipping over the world around them. He fights the urge to fill the silence, he’s already been taught a lesson about chattering on and disrupting Josiah’s thoughts. It’s a lesson he’s not eager to learn again.

Josiah finally gives him a lopsided smile, that same childlike pride filling his eyes once again as he nods. “Alright, Baby. We’ll get you a little friend to play with, somethin’ cute and sweet to keep ya company.”

Ezra nods, genuinely surprised at Josiah’s unusually generous mood. He thinks about the hound that lays in the corner and sleeps all day, roused only by Josiah collecting his hunting gear, and wonders if it would do well with a puppy. He hopes Josiah means a puppy.


	21. Baby's Super High Light Show

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Baby takes a ride.
> 
> **cw: implied noncon drugging, drugged whumpee, captivity, religious themes**
> 
> [RECORD: Space Child by UFO](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Hw9kskIJuK8&ab_channel=UFO-Topic)

Ezra opens his eyes to the world moving slowly around him. Warm air whips against his face in Josiah’s passenger seat. Josiah has his seat leaned back so he can relax, clearly enjoying the night drive to wherever the hell they were headed. He thinks he was told where before they left but he can’t remember. All he knows is this is the best he’s felt in god knows how long. 

Ezra tries to move but he’s strapped to the seat, seat belted in and wrapped in old bungee cords Josiah usually keeps in his truck. So he just leans back and looks at the fast moving black blur of pines down the darkening stretch of highway, squirming in his seat as he falls deeper into drugged out bliss. The trees seem too tall, like they stretch up into space and go on for miles. Dusk begins to settle in around them, turning the violet sky into a deep purple. 

“Who picks the color of the sky?” Ezra doesn’t intend to ask the question out loud, but his drug addled mind isn’t aware that he’s voicing his thoughts for Josiah to laugh at.

Josiah has the radio on low. A slew of outlaw hippie music on a mixtape he popped in the tape deck. The kind of music Mama Blevins probably used to smoke grass to as a rebellious youth. The perfect score for Ezra’s trip through Ketamineville. Just enough to ensure that Herschel doesn’t have to deal with someone in a k-hole.

The paved road turns to gravel and dirt. Ezra smiles at the lightning bugs turning into streaks of greenish yellow light in the trees, he tells Josiah that the fairies are guiding them somewhere and not to worry.

They know the way home. He thinks.

Josiah looks over at Ezra, all unfocused and happy in his own dream world, and smiles. He’d have to do this again when he has time to give his beautiful boy proper attention. Josiah knows he probably doesn’t need to drug him, Baby is always so well behaved. He wouldn’t put up a fuss like the others did. “Can’t take no chances,” Herschel tells him over the phone before they left the house. 

Ezra waves to the fairies as the car breaks away from the trees and heads down towards Herschel’s home at the end of the dirt road. The lights don’t leave him as they lead the way down the path and dance through the fields.

_Worlds spinnin’ by makes clouds in your eye tonight_

_The space of your life is only passing you by_

The Tran Am tires skid to a stop at the end of the gravel and dirt, the engine sounds like the way the thunder does when it comes down the mountain during a bad storm but somehow further away. Even when the rumble of the engine is gone, Ezra still feels the vibrations in his seat unaware that Josiah has opened the passenger side door to remove the straps and pull him out. The larger man wraps his arm around him and helps keep him steady as they walk towards the house. 

Erza nearly stops abruptly when he sees the celestial beauty waiting to greet them, Songbird’s curls are aglow from the warmth of the overhead light above her on the porch. She’s leaning against the railing with a welcoming smile on her face. For a moment Ezra feels a bit of cold creep in his stomach, was she sent here to save him from the demon who’s kept him chained up in Hell all this time?

“Are you an angel?” Ezra asks when Josiah helps him to the porch and comes to a stop in front of her, staring up at her with awe. He doesn’t even take notice of Herschel sliding in behind her and planting a kiss on her freckled cheek. “Why don’t you take him inside darlin’ and I’ll be in there in a bit.”

Songbird leads him into the kitchen and sits him down at the table. Ezra can still hear fragments of Herschel and Josiah’s conversation through the screen door, something about ‘a few days’ and ‘taking it easy’. Josiah’s voice echoes through the house like he’s at the bottom of a canyon but Ezra doesn’t pay it any mind, all of his focus is now on the angel who hovers about him with glasses of water and toasted slices of sandwich bread with a little jam. The warmth of her light fills him with hope that everything might be ok now. He allows himself to relax and be doted on by the hovering angel.

Ezra hopes that this is heaven.


End file.
